Love Is a Four Letter Word
by Marshie12
Summary: Julia Grant is getting divorced. Her husband just ran off to Florida with her secretary, leaving her with an empty bank account, a ruthless divorce lawyer and absolutely no faith in men. P
1. Prologue

_**Love Is a Four Letter Word**_

_Prologue: And They Lived Happily Ever After_

"You are the world's biggest jackass!"

Once upon a time there was a girl that fell in love with a boy.

Big mistake.

I searched frantically for the heaviest object in my general vicinity. A cordless phone? It would have to do. I chucked at the naked man that lay on my bed, bereft of sheets. Where had the sheets gone? They were wrapped firmly around the screaming girl in the corner of my bedroom as she tried to hide her own nudity.

"You lying, conniving, ruthless little man!" I screamed at him as he hid himself behind a pillow. A pillow? Nay. _Our_ pillow. I'd shared that pillow with that slimy little man for the past five years, three of which were spent under the protection of our wedding vows.

Wedding vows are a load of bullshit.

"You're a bastard! A sick little bastard! And now you're screwing my secretary?" I screamed, ripping the pillow away from him and hitting him repeatedly with it.

"Julia! Julia, stop!" he shouted back as I continued to hit him and he tried his hardest to cover up. Eventually, when I refused to cease the pillow beating, he somersaulted off the bed and slid on a discarded pair of underwear before I could work my way around the bed. The little tramp quickly sprinted out of the corner and locked herself in the bathroom. "You have to stop!" he continued to shout as I resumed my pummeling with the pillow. He was such a girl, begging for me to stop? It was merely a pillow!

"No!" I shouted, hitting him particularly viciously in the head. "And you have no right to order me around, you cheating bastard!"

"Julia," he continued, his voice muffled as he bowed his head and hid it under his arms as if he were expecting a bombing upon his head. I stopped hitting him and he lifted his head slightly from his hands to observe what had caused me to stop. As soon as I could see his eyes I hit him, with all my force, over the head for one final time. He whimpered and bowed again.

"Are you done?" he asked, as I stood there, the pillow lying lifeless by my side, panting and trying to stop the room from spinning. His voice was still muffled in his arms. When I didn't respond, he reluctantly lifted his head again. "Have you calmed down yet?"

I forgot about the pillow and kicked him in the shin. "No I have not calmed down!" I growled as I fell back in defeat. I landed on the bare bed, not even considering the lewd acts that must have taken place on my formerly pure bed.

"Julia, you need to be practical here," he replied. I hated him. I hated his soothing, psychiatric tones. I hated his psychoanalyst voice. I hated his self confidant claim that he was always right. I hated the way he thought he knew what I needed. But mostly, I hated the way he was sleeping with my secretary.

"I don't need to do anything you say," I replied numbly. I was far passed anger. I was so mad I was… dulcet. I was so angry I couldn't even yell anymore.

"I'm sorry Julia," he said, in that same patronizing, psychoanalyst's tone, as he squatted down in front of me where I sat on the bed. He put one hand on my shoulder while the other went to my face to wipe the tears I hadn't even noticed off of my cheek. "I didn't mean to hurt you," he whispered as he stared into my eyes.

Suddenly, his eyes broke contact with mine and peered over my shoulder where my ex-secretary had just dressed and stepped out of my bathroom with a click from the door.  
"I didn't mean to, Jules." He didn't even notice me anymore. He was locked onto Mandy, the secretary.

This is how it ends. The ex-secretary and the ex-husband; I am now a woman of exes. He was about to speak the death sentence to our relationship.

"But I fell in love with her."

This time I didn't use a pillow when I punched him in the nose.

* * *

_Aw poor Julia. I figured I'd just put this up. It won't have frequent updates for awhile, but I wanted to start it off... along with my other six._

_OK! Here is a promise: I won't start any more stories until I have finished three of the ones I've already started. I'm going to do "Vain and Superficial" first, because that's mostly written and very short. Then I want to finish "Don't Panic" because I should have done that a long time ago. Then I'm just going to work of whatever story seems to strike my whim. I have a starting stories disease, but when they hit me I just have to get them out of my head. It waould scare you to know that I have even more stories that are started on my desktop... not to mention a three plays. Sigh. I blame my overactive imagination._

_This will be a pride and prejudice tale. A very weird one, but one nonetheless. _

_Has anyone noticed that my characters are prone to physical violence? That's my second leading lay that's punched someone in the first chapter alone. I think JUlia was justified though, don't you?_


	2. Tale as Old as Time

_**Love Is a Four Letter Word**_

_Tale as Old as Time_

"That's ridiculous," I hissed at the glowering man in front of me. My lawyer put his hand on my arm. I suppose he was trying to pacify me, but that slime-ball touching me only riled me up.

I ignored the little creature and resumed my glaring at the other demon across the table. He was a man of boring perfection. He had perfect, dark hair, parted to the left. He was fairly young to be so exhausted. He had a fresh black suit and a blasé black tie. But, worst of all, he wore a stern, but undeniably confidant, facial expression. I wanted to slap that look off his face. I'd come awfully close to it multiple times already.

"I don't see why you're so shocked by this offer," the dark haired man said sternly as he shuffled through his blackberry. "There have been recorded cases of abuse on your client's part. She's lucky to reci-"

"Abuse?" I shouted. "If anyone in that relationship was abused it was me. That bastard was cheating on me!" I shouted at the stern man.

"That may be so," he replied, his face just as solid as it had been. It was obviously no use trying to invoke sympathy. It would be like trying to make a wall cry. Or befriending a pet rock. "But there has been a petition for a restraining order against you, by your husband, and documented photographs of the facial trauma your little charade caused."

I glared at him some more, my lip curling in disgust. "Don't ever call that man my husband again," I growled, my voice quiet, but still resonating.

He shrugged.

"Mr. Wilson," my lawyer, Drew Hudgins, jumped into the conversation before I could rip the throat out of that infuriating Mr. Wilson. "I would like to request some time to discuss the terms of the settlement with my client."

"No!" I shouted, stopping Mr. Wilson before he could even finish nodding. "We don't need to discuss it! I won't accept! Take this crap back to that sleazy, scumbag and tell him that this is unacceptable!"

Ok, so maybe I was going a bit insane, but can you blame me? Four weeks ago I caught my trusted, loving husband in the throws with another woman. Three weeks ago I was slapped with an offensive restraining order. Two weeks ago, my ex-husband, Nick, and his mistress, my ex-secretary Mandy, ran off to Florida together. Now, I'm stuck in this stuffy boardroom with my own toad-like lawyer and Nick's contemptuous fighting over who gets custody of _my_ pet goldfish! Nick would kill Louis!

Leave it to an asshole to hire an asshole to represent him.

Mr. Wilson rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. His bright eyes, the only source of life behind that rigid exterior, shone with the stress of the situation. Good. I was glad. I wanted to make Nick and everyone around him as miserable as possible. "Mrs. Grant, I beg you to reconsider."

I set my jaw and tried not to shiver at being called "Mrs. Grant." It sounded unnatural to me. Like a curse word now. Mrs. Grant no longer existed. She'd died when she walked into her apartment on that fateful day.

My own lawyer, Mr. Hudgins, sighed as he noticed my jaw harden in determination. I wasn't going to yield and I think that might have finally been sinking in with the remainder of the room.

"I'm not settling," I said with resolution. I didn't care! I wanted him to suffer the way that I was suffering. The only person that looked pained by this confession was Mr. Wilson. In fact, Mr. Wilson looked as though he was about to stab me. Suddenly I understood how he must have felt with me glaring daggers at him. Still, I refused to soften.

I wasn't going to settle. I'd settled when I'd married Nick. I wasn't prone to making the same mistakes multiple times.

Mr. Wilson stared at me, his bright blue eyes burning into me as I clenched every muscle of my body in absolute loathing. "I suppose," he said suddenly, hastily breaking eye contact and staring down at his proposed settlement, "we'll have to adjourn."

I nodded, reluctantly releasing this man temporarily from his torture.

Mr. Hudgins released a great breath. "Perfect," he sighed and was out the door before I'd even put on my cardigan. Mr. Wilson stopped to hold the door to the company meeting room. I took that as an opportunity to give him the literal cold shoulder as I breezed past him. I heard him make an exasperated sigh and I smirked in accomplishment.

I don't know much about my own feelings anymore, but I know for sure that I absolutely hate that man.

* * *

I took the cable car home to help me clear my head. Ever since I was a little girl, I'd loved the cable cars. I love how they chug up those giant hills and coast back down. I like to take them over to Ghirardelli Square and steal the free samples.

Today I was just going to ride around. I love this city. San Francisco is the most amazing place in the world. I love Chinatown. I love the cable cars and the hills. But I also love that this is where my sister is.

About one day after I discovered Nick's flight to Florida I sold the apartment. Mostly because when he left he cleared out his "half" of our bank account and I could no longer afford the place. But I swear that every time I sat in that apartment I could hear the groaning of Mandy Holden as she shared my bed with my husband. Needless to say, I was having trouble sleeping in that tainted apartment.

So I moved in with Kayce. Kayce is my older sister. I love her, we get along unnaturally well but now I feel like I'm back in high school, living with my sister and fighting over who gets the bathroom first. Kayce is supportive and understanding and absolutely amazing. She is genuinely upset for me that things with Nick didn't work out- because Kayce is, above all, a sickening optimist.

And I am a jaded, angry ex-wife. Needless to say, living with Kayce is an adventure.

My trip out of Embarcadero, the financial district, was finally over. I jumped off the cable car on the outskirts of Nob Hill, where Kayce's apartment resides in all its bohemian glory.

"Kayce? I'm home!" I shouted up the stairs as I climbed up them, jingling the set of keys that she'd just presented me with the night before. Kayce is a painter. She usually takes advantage of her free space to fill up empty rooms with her beloved canvas. She was somewhat reluctant to let me move in, but who could say no to your favorite sister when her husband just left her. I've sold my apartment and have permanently taken up residence with my sister, who allowed her sisterly love to outweigh her need for extra space.

"I'm in my room!" I heard Kayce shout through her paper thin walls.

I knocked on her door. It wasn't that I didn't normally just barge in, but she had taken to painting in her room ever since I'd moved into her studio and I didn't want to interrupt her if she was working.

"Come in," she shouted and I swung open the door before the words were even out of her mouth. I rushed in and flopped down on her bed.

"Kill me," I groaned as I lay upside down on her bed with my head hanging off. "Just kill me now."

"That bad?" she asked sounding more amused than I'd have liked. "Was the Toad at his worse?"

The Toad is my lawyer. I wanted a blood sucking demon that would rip Nick to pieces; I got Mr. Hudgins: the Toad. All he knows how to suck out of you is money. He's a complete waste of the cash that I hardly have to begin with. "I thought the Toad was the worst human being on the planet, but then I met Connor Wilson."

"Connor Wilson?" Kayce asked, setting down her paintbrush and sitting beside me on her bed. "Is he Nick's lawyer?"

"Yes," I growled. "And he just happens to be the biggest ass hole in the world. He's trying to take Louie away from me!"

Kayce crinkled her eyebrows. "Why would he do that? Nick would kill Louie."

"Because he's an inconsiderate, unfeeling Martian that likes to watch me suffer."

Kayce rolled her eyes. "Oh yes, Julia. I'm sure that's it. His main goal in life is to watch you suffer. You poor thing." I hated Kayce when she was sarcastic. She hardly ever was, but it just made it all the more effective when she reverted to it.

"So can you and I get drunk tonight, watch chick flicks and eat indeterminate amounts of ice cream?" I asked, pulling my aching head upright and propping myself up on my elbows.

Kayce shook her head and blushed. "I can't," she said eventually as I stared her down. "I have to meet some people for dinner."

"Some people?" I echoed. "What people?"

Kayce blushed again. "I don't know. Just some people."

"And why are you meeting these aforementioned people?"

Kayce flicked me on the nose and thereby flicked paint across my face. "Because I want to meet them," she sighed as she wiped the paint off my face.

"Business or pleasure?" I asked with a quirked eyebrow.

"Pleasure," she replied reluctantly. "What's with the third degree? Is your sister not allowed to meet the friends of her new guy?"

"New guy!" I shouted in excitement, jumping to my feet and bouncing on her bed to show my pleasure. Kayce had been sneaking off for the past three weeks to meet some mystery man, never leaving a single clue as to whom. I knew it was a new guy. I just knew it! "Who is it?" I asked, ceasing jumping, but still standing on her bed.

"His name's Andrew and I really like him," she replied, giggling at my antics.

I fell back onto my bottom. "Aw. You're positively giddy," I sighed. For some reason I wasn't as happy as I should have been for my love-less sister. No one deserves a good guy more than her. However, I just happen to know one little tidbit that she doesn't know: Good guys do not exist. "Just don't fall in love with him," I added. "Or else you'll end up a pathetic little person that has a restraining order against her, and her ex-husband is off gallivanting across a subtropical paradise using her money for god knows what."

"Aw, Julia! It'll be okay."

I sighed. "Yes, it'll be well worth it to know the incredulous look on Nick Grant's face when he discovers that I refused the settlement and he can't marry his precious bimbo."

Kayce sighed. "This really sucks."

"Life really sucks," I added.

She shot me a look. The world's greatest pessimist and optimist share the same gene pool. Who knew?

"Well," she said after a few minutes of contemplation. "I suppose you shouldn't stay here all alone…"

"It doesn't matter Kayce. I'll just clean out your fridge in suicidal gorging methods and possible try to track down that lying scumbag through a series of awkward, tearful phone calls. But, you know, don't worry about me."

Kayce shook her head, privy to what I was doing. "Fine," she conceded. "Get dressed quickly. We have to be in SoMa in an hour."

* * *

We were apparently meeting the illustrious Andrew at Jack Falstaff in the South of Market, SoMa, district. Always an interesting part of town, Falstaff was an expensive Californian restaurant off Second Street with a modern dining room and a price tag that far exceeded the wallets of both Kayce and I. Already, I could tell that Andrew was the kind of guy that refused to go Dutch; already, I was queasy by the sight of that sleek restaurant.

On the way over, Kayce filled me in on Andrew and the few friends I was about to meet. Andrew Klein was a stodgy lawyer, born and raised in San Fran.

"A lawyer?" I echoed, my face screwed up in revulsion.

"Don't jump to conclusions," Kayce warned me. "He's very nice and he only became a lawyer because his father was. Not all lawyers are as bad as the Toad."

I let her continue without protest. Andrew also happened to be 28, tall blonde, overly friendly and basically the male version of Kayce. Andrew's sister, Courtney Klein, was a bit of a princess. She was a mediator at the same firm that Andrew and Andrew's father had worked at. She liked designer clothes, celebrity couples and was never caught dead without a copy of the latest Cosmopolitan Magazine. We were also meeting CK. CK is Andrew's best friend, but outside of that Kayce knows absolutely nothing about him. Tonight was designed specifically so Kayce could meet CK for the very first time.

But, as an added bonus, tonight would also be the night that I would meet Andrew for the very first time.

By the time we wondered into the stodgy, modern restaurant Andrew was already there with his sister. He seemed friendly enough, although I didn't see the same sex-god appeal in him that apparently had Kayce so enamored. His sister, Courtney, on the other hand, looked as though she smelt something awful. She just kept looking around as if she was scared for her life. She was in a fancy restaurant, what's she have to be so scared of?

"So, Julia," Andrew said sweetly as he sat back down after greeting us properly. Courtney hadn't even bothered to smile politely. "I hear you just moved in with Kayce. What's that like?"

I shrugged. "A bit like we're kids again. Except with a smaller living space."

"Hey!" Kayce protested. "I'm used to living alone. You don't like it? Move out."

"Ah-uh," I disagreed. "You're not getting rid of me that easily."

"What on earth possessed you to move back in with your sister?" Courtney asked me, her face in a permanent sneer.

"Courtney-" Andrew hissed warningly, but I interrupted him.

"Well, I had to sell the apartment I shared with my husband."

"Husband?" Andrew repeated back in shock. "Kayce never mentioned you were married."

"I _was_."

"Oh," Andrew replied, seeming as though he'd just been struck with a case of foot-in-mouth disease.

"Divorce is so cliché," the fairy princess said. I thought Andrew was going to kill her with the exasperated look he was shooting her.

"So!" Kayce shouted, seeing that I was about to snap at Princess Courtney, and jumping in to prevent such a display. "Where's CK?"

"Oh," Andrew suddenly relaxed. "He got stuck having to take care of some nasty divorce scandal. This crazy women is out for revenge against her ex and will do anything to make his life hell. He's been stuck in conference with her basically all day. Poor guy's going to be a bit late."

I frowned. That was a bit harsh to be coming from Andrew. I immediately knew that those must have been the words of CK. "Maybe that woman deserves the description 'poor,'" I said, thinking out loud. "For all any of us know, there are extenuating circumstances. For all we know, she could deserve a little sympathy."

"I'm sorry," Kayce sighed, putting her hand on my back but apologizing to Andrew. "Her divorce is still a bit fresh. She's feeling a bit victimized at the moment."

"Oh." Andrew seemed oddly uncomfortable. He took a deep swig from his soda and looked back up. "CK!" he shouted, his eyes lighting up at the appearance of someone over my shoulder.

Kayce and I instantly turned to see the famed, "poor" CK and there he was, Mr. Dark and Brooding. He paused for a second as his eyes traveled to me and suddenly his face dropped. He looked as though someone had just told him his father had died. Slowly and reluctantly, he wandered over to our table where he took the last remaining seat right beside me. "I'm sorry I'm late," he muttered, staring down at his napkin and basically anywhere but at me.

"It's cool," Andrew said as he pointed to Kayce and I. "CK this is Kayce and this is her sister Julia. Julia, Kayce- this is CK Wilson."

I extended my right hand for him to shake and spoke with a breezy casual tone that defied the situation. "Mr. Wilson, I believe we've met."

* * *

_I hope you enjoyed the first real chapter. I thought this would be a fun little twist on the old P&P tale. I promise to do some work on my older stories so that I can have that up. I promise you an update for "Don't Panic" by next Saturday._

_Did anyone see "Jane Austen Book Club"? I thought it was pretty good. I liked how all the stories seemed to seep into each of their lives, like how Prudie was Mansfield Park and that was her favorite of the books. I think I liked the movie better than the book. Grigg was super cute._

_Ok. G-day._


	3. Someday My Prince Will Come

_Oh look! It's chapter two!_

_**Love Is a Four Letter Word**_

_Someday My Prince Will Come_

"Tell me what happened next." If I had a best friend in the world Charlie "Char" Davidson would be it. Your stereotypical gay man, he's flamboyant, loudmouthed and has a tattoo of a rainbow on his left butt cheek. And no, don't ask me how I know that.

"Char, sometimes I think you get a bit too much joy out of my pain," I replied as I tugged on my latest victim's hair, trying to work out the knot she'd managed to get. This is what I do. This is what I love: Hair. When I was nineteen I dropped out of college and signed myself up for beauty school. I didn't care if my mother told me nine million times that I wouldn't get anywhere in life without a college education; I was tired of pretending I actually cared who Faulkner was and decided that if I wanted to make the world more beautiful, hair was the way to do it.

When I was twenty I met Vivian Warwick and she absolutely fell in love with me. As the premier hairstylist of her time, it was more than just an advantage when she took me under her wing. The doors she opened for me made my career into what it is today. Without her, well let's just say I'd be chopping hair at the local Great Clips.

Because I had such an advantage I was skilled and popular enough to open my own salon, Julie Grant, by the time I was twenty four. For awhile there I had the perfect life. I was a pretty big name in the world of celebrities and hairspray. I owned my own salon. I had a husband that I loved. Nowadays, well, at least I still have the first two. Divorced at 26. Pathetic.

"I'm sorry," Char said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "It's not my fault I find heterosexual relationships to be so fascinating."

"Relationship?" I snorted in false amusement. "The only relationship I have is with my sister's paint splattered sofa. You are, sadly enough, about as close as I'll come to a boyfriend."

"Oh Honey," he sighed. "If only I felt the same way. Our children would have great hair."

Bethany, the girl whom I was presently working my magic on, locked eyes with me in the mirror. "So what did happen next? With the lawyer?"

I sighed. "You guys don't really want to hear this do you? It makes me seem so sad and pathetic."

Bethany smiled. She was a thirty year old woman whom miraculously still looked twenty-two, and my most frequent customer. You see Bethany had wild hair and a tendency to mutilate it if she tried to do any kind of style. I'll never understand how this woman could be so bad with a brush, but such a genius with makeup. "Honey, you're going through a divorce. No one has the right to be sad and pathetic quite like you." I loved Bethany. She always seemed to make me feel better and my acne appear smaller.

I sighed and raked my comb through her wet hair. "So CK walks into the restaurant and of course, CK just happens to be short for Conner Klein Wilson—my soon to be ex-husband's lawyer."

Char winced. "Connor Klein. What an unfortunate name. Even my parents weren't so cruel."

"It's a family name," I interjected.

"So the best friend is the asshole lawyer. Keep going," Bethany prodded, trying to keep Char and me on track with the story.

"So, earlier in the evening, Andrew had mentioned this real witch that poor little CK had to put up with all day who was being impossible with her divorce settlement. Guess who that little witch just happened to be?"

Char and Bethany both gasped in unison. They were the perfect little audience.

"That's absolutely horrible!" Bethany growled in outrage. "I can't believe he'd say that about you!"

"Oh, just you wait." I finished with the comb and grabbed my trusty pair of straight edge scissors, preparing to snip a few split ends for Bethany. "So the night's awkward enough. I'm sitting by the world's greatest prick trying not to stab him with my butter knife and be a good little girl, for Kayce's sake if not my own, and he just keeps staring down at the tablecloth and wont say a thing while Courtney, Andrew's sister, rattles on and on about her new Prada sandals. I wanted to shoot myself.

"Eventually, Andrew starts to ignore his heinous sister and starts asking me personal questions, completely oblivious to the tension between his best friend and me. He asks me trivial little things like what was it like growing up with Kayce, where did I go to school, have I lived in the city my entire life. Eventually he gets to the big ones, about my broken marriage.

"I tell him about Nick. I tell him that I met my psychoanalyst when I was twenty one when I'd met his hippy bohemian mother at a pottery class and she just happened to be looking for a hippy bohemian woman to set up his stodgy psychoanalyst son with. I told him that we were together two years before we got married and another three years before I caught him in bed with Mandy."

Like the loyal friends that they were, both Bethany and Char winced at mention of the name Mandy. She'd worked here as my personal assistant and they had known her well. Or, just like me, at least they'd thought they had.

"And so I'm sitting there telling the story about my bastard ex-husband and CK finally decides to look up at me. His eyes are boring into mine and I just want to slap him across the face because I can see right through those horrible baby blue eyes and I know exactly what they're saying. They're saying that he's siding with Nick. Then he finally, for the first time all night, decides he'd like to speak. 'Maybe he'd had a perfectly good reason to cheat on you.'"

Once again, my studious audience gasps.

"What a bastard!" Char shouts. "I've known plenty of dick-wad men in my day, Jules, and that is by far one of the most dick-wad things I have ever heard."

"Don't listen to him, Jules," Bethany adds, agreeing with Char as she nods to back up his point and I have to hold her head still so I don't loose my angle on her hair. "Nick cheating on you is by no means your fault. It's his."

I study the straight edges of Bethany's hair with all my might as I reply, trying to keep my eyes hard and dry. "I know that. You think I don't know that? Why would I have any reason to trust anything an asshole like CK Wilson says?"

In truth, the comment had stung. Sure maybe a little, tiny, insignificant part of my aching heart had asked myself that same question. Was it possible that I had pushed Nick into cheating? Was I partly to blame for my broken marriage? Of course, I'd ignored that little nagging and replaced it with bitter, justifiable anger. But hearing CK Wilson say those words had brought that voice back. Did I do something wrong?

"Please tell me you slapped him across the face after that comment," Char added, studying with precision, my profile just as I studied Bethany's follicles.

"No, but I wanted to," I replied.

"You would have had every right," Bethany added.

"No, no I wouldn't have. If I'd slapped him I would have been just as bad as he was. So instead, I looked him squarely in the eye and I asked him why he felt that way. He just studies me for a moment and replies, 'Nobody cheats for no particular reason. They cheat because something isn't right with their relationship. Obviously, something wasn't right.'

"Andrew at this point coughs nervously, finally picking up on the tension that was emanating from me and tries to justify CK to me. He says hat CK doesn't believe in divorce, which is ironic considering he's a divorce lawyer, and that sometimes he has a tendency to think that relationships fail only because of a lack of a balanced effort from both parties. Apparently CK believes that people take marriage too lightly."

My jaw was clenched, even just remembering the whole ordeal made me want to cry out in pure rage. How dare CK judge my relationship! Of course he'd side with Nick. Nick was like a hypnotist convincing people that what he thought was wrong and CK had only ever heard Nick's side of the story.

But that didn't justify what he had said.

"I kind of feel sorry for him," Bethany chipped in finally, while Char studied me as I bit my lip and tried my hardest to concentrate on Bethany's hair.

"Don't you know that you should never anger a girl who has scissors and access to you hair?" Char snapped as he quickly whisked the scissors out of my hands before I could do anything stupid. Ah Char. He knows me too well.

"Just think about it. He's obviously a pathetic excuse for a man. He's obviously never felt any sliver of passion that has swept him up in a whirlwind of stupidity. He probably has no experience with love to take such a substandard view on the topic." Bethany's eyebrows were furrowed and she seemed to really be contemplating this. "He's obviously ignorant to the power of love. He's obviously trying his hardest to avoid being hurt and therefore knows absolutely nothing about what life is all about."

"So from you assessment, he's some sort of … what? Robot?" I asked, contemplating such a thought. It hadn't really occurred to me to think about how emotionally stunted he must be. I just figured he was a plain old ass hole.

"Metaphorically speaking, yes I think he's a robot. An emotional robot."

I shook my head. For a second there, the inner workings of CK Wilson's mind were actually making sense. "Stop doing that. You remind me of Nick, being all analytical and whatnot. I hate analytical. I want passion and impulsiveness."

"She's right. Understanding this jerk won't make anything better. You need to be irrational, Jules." Char was smiling wickedly. I loved that smile. Every time I saw that smile it meant that something fun was about to happen. "And I don't believe there's anything less rational than revenge."

* * *

Back at Kayce's place I was contemplating my plan of action as I cooked a bowl of Mac and Cheese. Revenge eh? I could handle that. No one loved a bit of scheming quite like me, and Char seemed more than willing to aid the process.

"Jules?" I heard Kayce shouting up the stairs. "Are you home?"

I bit my lip. Operation Sucker was about to commence. I'd never been much of an actress, but for this part of the plan I'd have to fool the person that knew me better than anyone else. This would be the hardest part. If I could manage it, the rest would be easy.

"Yep!" I shouted back. "In the kitchen."

Kayce wandered into her kitchen and pulled a forced smile. "Hey, how was your day?" I asked as she fell heavily into the chair at Kayce's tiny little cheap metal table that she'd splatter painted like most other furniture in her apartment.

Kayce groaned and hid her face in her hands.

"That good huh?"

Kayce peered up at me through her arms. "Andrew and I just got into a huge fight. I told him that CK was inexcusably rude to you last night and he liked flipped out. It was so weird. Andrew never gets upset about stupid things like that."

"Aw Kayce!" I sighed pouring her a bowl of Mac and Cheese to go alongside mine and setting it in front of her on the table. "That was really sweet of you to stand up for me, but I can't handle you fighting with Andrew over me. Plus, I can take care of CK Wilson all by myself."

She looked at me, grabbing the fork I handed her and shoveling the Mac and Cheese into her mouth without thinking. "I know you can, but you're going through a lot right now and I don't think you should have to put up with things like that."

"That's sweet, but, to be honest, I'm not even that upset about it." Lie. I could have sworn she could see right through me. I self-consciously shoveled Mac and Cheese into my mouth to hide my guilty wince.

"You're not?" She eyed me suspiciously. It was very out of character for me to be forgiving. Kayce was suspicious.

I shrugged and continued to chew through my mouthful of pasta. "He's a jerk," I said swallowing hard and trying not to choke. "What more is there to be upset about?"

"So you don't," Kayce paused and screwed up her face in contemplation. "You aren't plotting his imminent depth?" She seemed honestly shocked. Wow, am I some sort of overly violent person?

"I just don't care that much. He's a jerk. And I could maybe excuse his pride if he hadn't offended mine, but it hardly matters." I gulped and tried to hide a wicked smile. "It's not like I'll ever see him again."

Kayce stared at her bowl of pasta in contemplation.

"Don't fight with Andrew over something so silly. You're right about him. He truly seems like a very good guy." If at any point I'd said something that would give me away it was right then. Everyone knows that no guy is a good guy.

"He is. I really like him."

I patted her on the shoulder. "That's good. Don't let anything your angry little sister says change the way you feel about him. Just because I have no faith left in the male sex, doesn't mean you have to give them up too."

Kayce hesitated. "He was kind of rude to me this afternoon though."

"Call him and apologize. If you really like him none of that other stuff should matter." Wow. I'm a better actress than I thought. I almost even believed all this bull I was tossing out. I had this role mastered.

"But don't you think it's a bit weird that he sided with his friend over me? I mean CK was so mean to you. There's no excuse for that." She seemed honestly unsure. "I don't want to date someone that can't even get along with my favorite sister. Imagine how well he'd do with mom." Ah. She had a point.

"I'll tell you what." Kayce had played into my plan beautifully. "If it makes you feel better, I'll give it another try. Just you, me, Andrew and CK for an entire night. I'm sure it was just a case of bad first impressions."

Bad first impressions and the world's most major asshole.

Kayce nodded and smiled. "You're the best, Jules. I couldn't have asked for a better sister."

I smiled back, trying not to hate myself. "Thanks. You're not so bad yourself. Now go off and call Andrew. I've got to make a few calls to my lovely toad-ish lawyer."

Kayce rinsed her bowl and put it in the dishwasher. "Sounds good, Jules. Just make sure you don't make him cry this time."

I picked up the telephone as soon as I heard her close the door to her bedroom. Even I was a bit shocked at how well that had gone over. Kayce had played into my hand perfectly and I hardly even felt guilty.

"Hello Carol," said cheerily to the secretary as she answered the phone. "Can I speak with Mr. Hudgins?"

"Drew Hudgins speaking," I head his voice announce just moments later.

"Mr. Hudgins!" I replied cheerily.

"Mrs. Grant?" I heard him reply doubt evident in his voice. Ok so, maybe I normally wasn't very cheery when I spoke to the poor guy. Can you blame me?

I smiled, loving the way I could throw off the entire world just by seeming a bit happier. I swear I wasn't always this bitter. "I'd like to talk to you about my case."

"Is there something wrong?"

"Yes. Exactly what can I do to make this as painful for my husband as possible?"


	4. A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes

_What ho? Another chapter? It must be Christmas! _

_Sorry. I meant to have it up a couple of days ago, but better late than never I always say!_

_**

* * *

**_

Love Is a Four Letter Word 

_A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes_

I trudged angrily toward the solon, my purple summer dress flopping around by my knees. It was an absolutely gorgeous day. I hated that.

"Oho!" Charlie whistled across the nearly empty solon as soon as I crossed the threshold. "Why the bee in your bonnet, Sunshine?" he asked with his usual, annoying enthusiasm. I wanted to stab him in the jugular. I think he got the message as I shot him the nastiest look I could muster.

"Not today, Charlie," I growled, dropping my cloth bag into one of the many vacated seats. My protégé, Tanya, giggled and removed all pointy objects from my general vicinity.

"Nothing like an angelic lawyer to kick your morning off right, now is there?" Char sang, taking the spinning chair beside the one I'd just fallen heavily into and spinning with childlike wonder. I stuck my foot out, stopping him mid-spin and kicked him angrily in the shins.

As Charlie groaned in pain, Tanya laughed again and checked our schedule book for the day. It was just the usual line up of daddy's princesses, rich widows, and whatever poor soul saw my feature in Sunday's paper and thought they'd like to try someplace trendy. The game was on in about an hour… that was time enough to regain my gripping, right?

Charlie studied me as I sulked in my big squishy chair. "Oh c'mon, Jules. The Toad wasn't that bad, was he?"

I winced and looked at Char. "I'll never understand how you do it, Char. Men are the most disgusting sex in the entire world. If I didn't love them so much, I wouldn't go near them with a ten foot pole. But you! You choose to date them."

Charlie laughed. "I hardly chose, Jules." He got out of his own chair and grabbed the arm rests on mine, spinning me like he'd spun himself just moments before. Suddenly he stopped me. I was facing him dead-on and those big, brown eyes, that remind you of a sweet little puppy dog, burned into me. "Are we on plan?" he asked seriously.

I took a long swig of air. "I hardly know anymore. Kayce seems to be in, involuntarily, but still in. But the stupid Toad! Apparently, any kind of legal action to harm that nasty ex-husband of mine would require effort from the Toad, so that's basically out of the question. The only option is to draw out proceedings for as long as I possibly can, pay the Toad out my ear hole, and hope that CK Wilson falls into my ridiculous trap."

"Second thoughts?" Char asked, a singular eyebrow quirked halfway up his forehead.

I shook my head quickly. "Julie Grant does not have second thoughts."

"That's another thing." Charlie suddenly let go of my chair and backed off, clutching his chin in contemplation. "Your name. Are we changing that?"

I hadn't really considered the thought. Ok. That was a lie. I've considered it, but quickly changed the topic. You know, it's a rather difficult thing to distract your own mind.

"And what about that?" He was having a staring contest with the fourth finger on my left hand. That disgusting silver band was twinkling at us both in the fluorescent bulbs. "Are you going to wear it around forever?"

I looked at the sparkling, sickening diamond. I couldn't help but feel a bit fuzzy in the pit of my stomach. Or possibly just queasy. There was a time when that ring was more than just a ring on my finger. Suddenly there was a burning sensation in my chest. It literally ached. I thought that was just a myth. To add insult to injury, you can literally feel it break.

"I'll take it off," I replied defiantly. I didn't know who I was trying to defy, Charlie or my every aching impulse. "I'd forgotten it was there," I added feebly. I had the urge to fight this sudden sense of hopelessness. I don't like feeling weak, but this ring weighed a hundred pounds and I couldn't carry its weight anymore. Do you think this is how Frodo Baggins felt?

"Maybe this isn't such a good idea," Charlie supplied. I jumped slightly. I'd almost forgotten he was in the room.

"What isn't?" I asked suspiciously, hiding my left hand under my leg.

"This little plan for revenge."

I blanched. "Listen buddy! It was your idea."

Char lifted his hands in surrender, or possibly in a feeble attempt to protect his extremities. "Maybe I was wrong. Maybe the best plan of action would just be to get the divorce and move on."

I didn't want to concede to that plan of action. What if I couldn't move on? What if I became a bitter old lady that still complained about her cheating, bastard husband? What if Nick was my one and only?

"No Char!" I shouted, unable to grasp any of those possibilities just yet. "We'll go through with the plan. I want Nick to suffer. I want CK to rue the day he ever said that—"

Cue annoying phone ring. Why does that always seem to happen? Almost every time I get on a good tirade I get interrupted. It was probably for the best. I don't think Char really needed to hear my desperate plea for revenge. I felt kind of like Hamlet, consumed by revenge… but a lot less suicidal.

"Julie Grant Salon and Style, this is Charlie, how can I help you?"

I fell back against my chair, drowning out the sickening cheer of Charlie and the brief escape from his penetrating eye.

I tried to focus my life onto the backs of my eyelid, like watching a movie being projected right there in my own psyche. It kind of came in flashes. There were my parents kissing my cheeks at my high school graduation; my frat boy boyfriend kissing me in his dorm room; the laughter from my baby sister when I announced to the family that I'd dropped out of school to become a hairstylist; the day I met Vivian Warwick and my entire life had changed; the day I met Nick; the day Nick told me he loved me; the day Nick proposed; our gorgeous white wedding; burning pasta almost every night for our first year of marriage whenever I'd try to cook for him; laughing with him as we watched movies in our cute little apartment; waking up beside him every morning; the day I'd come home just a little bit early… The day the chain of happy memories stopped.

I mildly acknowledged that the latter memories all involved Nick. _I'd been happy. _The tense of that thought made my heart do that achy thing again. Oh no, were the corners of my eyes really prickling? I wasn't going to… going to _cry, _was I?

Impossible! Julie Grant does not cry.

…Or should I say Julie Simon. My maiden name felt oddly foreign. I'd been Julie Grant for three years; compared to the lifetime that it was supposed to stick, three years felt horribly unimpressive.

"Yes Trudy, she's right here."

The name Char muttered bounced around inside my empty brain. I quickly and instinctively jumped to my feet to snatch the phone away from him. "Trudy!" I squeaked into my sleek little salon phone.

"I just heard," Trudy's gasped back across the phone lines and thousands of miles that separated us. "What a rotten little pisser that bastard was. I'm ashamed to call him my son."

I smiled slightly. Well, at least I had Trudy on my side.

"Please tell me you have plans to castrate the little jerk. Or shoot him! You know I have the number of a very discreet—"

I laughed. It felt normal. Huh. That was an odd sensation. Normalcy. "I'm not going to kill your son."

"Of course you're not." She almost sounded disappointed. "You have far too much class to sink to such a level. I do expect some sort of karmic retribution on your part. I know! Do you want me to tell him he's adopted and that it's possible he's a descendant of the devil?"

I laughed again. I love Trudy. She's my second mother. If it wasn't for her I never would have met Nick. I'm not sure that's a good thing anymore though…

I suddenly realized I hadn't responded to Trudy's offer and she was still rambling on about her plot to tell Nick he was adopted. "I'll just fly on down to Florida, look that cheating bastard in the eye, and say 'Nickolie Grant! I did not raise a cheater. You're no son of mine.'"

My jaw dropped. I was suddenly hit over the head with a frying pan. Never mind. That's not a frying pan! That's an idea. I was hit over the head with a sly, tricky, slimy, pesky little plan. It was the absolute perfect solution to all my problems.

"Trudy, I appreciate the gesture, but"- I looked around the deserted salon- "I'm kind of swamped at work right now. Mind if we plot the imminent demise of you son at another juncture?"

Trudy was off the phone in a flash. I slammed the headset down into its cradle and whirled around, grabbing my bag in one quick swoop.

"Where are you going?" Char asked as I threw my bag across my shoulder.

"To see my lawyer," I replied sternly. "Take care of my appointments for the day."

I rushed out of the salon. I was no longer a woman floundering in a sea of her own troubles. I was a woman on a mission. I relished in my momentary sense of urgency.

What was I thinking? I'm Julie Grant… or Simon, or whatever. It really doesn't matter what my last name is. I'm Julie. I'll always be Julie. Of course I'll get over this!

I hope.

* * *

I wore my favorite black satin dress the next day. We had a meeting. A very important meeting with none other than the bloodsucking Mr. CK Wilson and I had a point to prove.

I'd put more effort into my appearance than was strictly necessary, but in war you spare no expense.

But… because I'd taken so long putting myself together, I was just a tad late to our little meeting. I walked breezily in, pausing dramatically by the door to let the whole look take effect. The Toad's mouth dropped out and he looked a bit star struck. Mr. CK Wilson, however, hardly noticed. He just pierced his lips and growled, "You're half an hour late, Mrs. Grant."

I was a bit upset. He hadn't even noticed.

"Would you like to take a seat so we can proceed with these… proceedings."

Oh ha, ha. Mr. CK Wilson was trying to be funny. What a sad little life he must lead.

The Toad was still staring at the door in shock, as if he were still studying me as I'd come through the door. I sat down in the seat directly across from the comedian so I had a prime angle to kill him with looks, and so he could ogle my beauty. I blinked at him furiously, expectantly.

He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

Before I knew it, we'd been sitting there like such for a grand total of three and a half minutes… and no one had said a word.

"Mrs. Grant, are you merely wasting my time?" Mr. CK Wilson asked with a sigh and a quick shuffle through his file folder. "Or would you just sign these papers so this whole thing can be done with?" He pulled out the giant wad of a divorce settlement that they'd pulled together. I laughed as he pushed the papers toward me.

"But Mr. Wilson!" I gasped theatrically. "I can't sign _these_!"

Mr. CK Wilson looked as though someone had just dropped an anvil on his head. Secretly, I wished someone had.

"Why not?" he growled through clenched teeth.

"_Because." _I grabbed a pen and circled the name at the top of the page. "This man is not my husband."

Mr. CK Wilson took the wad of disgusting papers that outlined the fact that Nick was going to be taking me to the cleaners. There was no way I could allow that lying, cheating bastard to do that. I'm a fighter.

"I don't see what's wrong here," Mr. CK Wilson replied, squinting at the tiny print on the paper. It was a size seven text and twenty-six pages long. Twenty-six pages! Who knew twenty-six pages could ruin your life?

"That's not my husband," I pointed out as Mr. CK Wilson continued the squint at the paper.

Mr. CK Wilson looked up at me in exasperated futility. He seemed prepared to argue my point. I was quite prepared to squash him like a bug.

"Yes it is." He was trying very hard to control his anger and frustration. I almost laughed at his attempt. "Nicholas Jeffrey Grant. That's your husband."

I shook my head slowly and sadly then reached into my purse to remove my hidden weapon. "Why no, Sir, that's not my husband." I laid my sheet of paper on the table. It was a single sheet to his twenty-six, but I felt it was just a powerful and life-determining. "I don't recall ever marrying a _Nicholas _Jeffrey Grant."

I slowly slid the sheet of paper across the table and poor Mr. CK Wilson snatched it up.

"You see, my _beloved _husband's name was Nickolie Jeffrey Grant."

If Mr. CK Wilson had heat vision, I believe he would have set my precious copy of my marriage certificate on fire. But since, sadly, he was quite superpower free, all I got to see him do was clench his jaw and take a very deep breath. He slammed the sheet of paper back onto the table, trapping it between the wood and his palm, then slowly slid it back across the surface to me. "That's a technicality, Mrs. Grant."

I smiled sweetly, killing him with kindness. "Technicality? Oh no, Mr. Wilson. I think you'll find it to be very consequential."

I noticed that the Toad had missed his cue. He was still staring at the door in the exact same manner as he had been when I'd first entered. The man was hopeless. I kicked him under the table to snap him back to reality.

"Wha—" Ew. Was he drooling? He wiped his mouth quickly and stared at the heated looks between Mr. Wilson and me. "Oh," he shuffled through his own papers, trying desperately to regain his composure. Finally he found what he was looking for. "Under California State law," he read off the paper, "a full and accurate legal name must be provided for any official contracts, criminal charges, written accords, etc."

"Which means," I interjected, finishing off the perfect triple axel. "That it very much _does_ matter, Mr. Wilson. Officially, Nickolie Grant has never filed for a divorce. Officially, I have a restraining order between myself and a person that does not even exist. Officially, you are representing a mythical person."

Suddenly, as if on cue, Mr. CK Wilson's phone rang. I smirked as he had a brief and grunting conversation with some sort of high pitched voice that was probably 3,000 miles away in a subtropical paradise.

Before he could hang up, I made one last request. "Tell my _darling_ husband that I miss him ever so much," I suggested with wanton glee.

Mr. CK Wilson glared at me as he flipped his phone shut. "Mrs. Grant. Please explain to me why your husband is being chased around Florida by a process server?"

I smiled. "Well, I figured it was time one of us filed for a divorce, considering he's screwing another woman and all."

Mr. CK Wilson tugged on his hair and released all the breath from his chest. I don't think it helped. He still looked very angry.

I smiled, silently thanking all the bohemian women who named their children obnoxiously bizarre names, and relishing in the discontent of my adoring husband's lawyer.

Things were looking up.


	5. When You Wish Upon a Star

_**Love is a Four Letter Word**_

_When You Wish Upon a Star_

On Thursday night, I had a horrible nightmare.

There I was, in that same stodgy meeting room at Wilson, Klein and Dublin, the law firm where CK worked. The Toad wasn't there, but in the dream I hardly thought to care. I was just sitting there, in my usual seat, while CK Wilson blinked back at me from across the table. He just kept blinking and blinking, but in the dream I was too preoccupied to care.

I was consumed. I was lost forever in those amazing blue eyes. They were making me ache. It was the kind of throbbing pain that I'd only ever felt idly, but never quite as acutely as it struck me in that same old stuffy board room. It was the ache of desire.

I'd never had such an irrational, and overpowering, longing overcome me like what I felt in that board room. Maybe it was just a smoldering school-girl fantasy gone awry, but I suddenly wanted to jump CK, with his brooding eyebrows and his hair all trim and proper, right there in that windowless, soul-sucking room.

I bit my lip. CK continued to blink.

He didn't even realize what he was doing to me. All that blinking only served to increase my libido. It surpassed desire. I _needed_ him. I needed his skin against mine. If I had to hold out one more second, I was going to burst into a million different, sexually frustrated pieces.

Suddenly, as if reading my thoughts, CK took action.

He crossed the room, turning around the sharp corners of the giant mahogany table with grace and purpose, and before I could even react, outside a great puff of desire, he had whisked me out of my chair and sat me plumb down on top of the table. It was like someone had let the stopper out of a drain and in one great rush all my pent up sexual impulses flowed out of me. I pressed myself against CK, hoping that the feel of my body against his affected him as much as it did me. I grabbed him by the collar of his crisp white shirt and pulled him even closer, leaning back as I did so, forcing him to trap me against his body and the table that had only moments before served as a barrier between us.

CK kissed me with enough intensity to very accurately depict that my desires were reciprocated by him. He kept it clean but passionate, a very delicate balance. Eventually he took to varying his routine, switching from pressing his lips against mine, to trailing them across my jaw and down my neck, and eventually finding his way to my ear, where he nibbled my earlobe with a gentle ferocity.

I was practically shaking with desire as my hands clenched around his normally so perfect hair and tugged forcefully. So much for the perfect order of the follicles, I was pulling with such intensity that, by the time I abandoned it to fiddle with his belt, it was sticking out in every direction.

While I hastily, and clumsily, undid CK's pants and belt, he took a much more direct approach, grabbing my blue oxford shirt on either side and pulling it quickly apart, sending buttons scattering across the boardroom. I was tired of him having all the control, so I wrapped my knees around his waist, pushing his pants down with my bare feet, having kicked my pumps across the room, and pressed my knees against his side, forcing him to roll over. CK gave-in to my roll and allowed me to straddle him on top of the table. He winced slightly and, before I could attack his lips or begin the quick and risky process of removing his boxers, he pulled a stapler out from under him and tossed it across the room without a second glance. He smiled slightly, no longer an expressionless robot, and I dove into action.

Before I knew it I was in only my bra and a matching pair of lacy panties. CK too had miraculously stripped down, his shirt having suddenly gone missing. I grabbed the waist band of his boxers, playing with his desire just as much as I was torturing my own. His head rolled back, those baby blues shielded as he closed his eyes in anticipation.

And that's when, panting, sweating, and confused, I woke up.

* * *

On Friday morning, I woke up with an inexplicable headache and a prickly sensation across all my frayed nerves. There was an odd urge to close my eyes again and go back to whatever blissful dream had preoccupied me through the night. That was until I remembered that said dream was hardly blissful at all. I felt like a silly, moronic girl as the dream rushed back to me.

What was I doing? Sexual fantasies about a man that I loathe, not only in a personal context, but on principle as well? I was beyond that. I was a woman on a mission. A woman with a vengeance. Having fantasies about the enemy… That was practically a sin.

I quickly wiped my head of all images, as well as the analytical part of my brain that sounded oddly like Nick's voice, that told me there was probably more to my dream than that. It was probably just my subconscious confusing disgust with desire… and the fact that I hadn't been laid in over three months.

Either way. It was shitty, second-class romance novel kind of dream and I refused to even acknowledge its existence. I quickly shot out of bed before sleep could claim me again and I could slip into another traitorous nightmare. I took a cold shower and took special cares to keep my mind as blank as was physically possible. I ended up focusing all my energy onto a childhood memory of Kayce and I playing Barbie tattoo parlor, and the last time we ever saw our dolls in their pristine glory.

By the time I got out of the shower and dressed into my bohemian summer dress, taking careful pains to avoid my sudden urge to wear my blue oxford (buttons still intact), Kayce was up and clattering around in our kitchen. I wondered out and forced myself to smile at her as she pulled a cake out of the oven.

"Cake?" I asked, not too preoccupied to realize how peculiar this was to witness at eight in the morning. Kayce was hardly ever awake at eight in the morning. I scowled in confusion.

Kayce shot me a brief look that mingled exasperation and exhaustion. "Yes cake. Someone woke me up at six-thirty this morning with some very _interesting _noises." As she said the word "interesting," her look suddenly lifted into a light and suggestive grin.

I blanched at the implications.

"So?" she asked, her smile only broadening at my embarrassed reaction. "Who was it?"

I hung my head low. "It was no one. I don't have any idea what you're talking about."

Kayce grinned again. She reminded me somewhat of those evil Siamese cats from that Disney movie. "I don't buy that for a moment." She tossed a hand towel at me. It caught on my ponytail and hung limply over my head. I reached up and snatched it off. "I think all of Nob Hill heard you, Julia. So are you going to dish or leave me in suspense?"

I shook my head. "I think it would be best if we just pretended it didn't happen at all."

Kayce sighed and flicked off the oven. "C'mon Jules. You can tell me. Was it anyone I know?"

I refused to let the image of CK Wilson laying underneath my thighs in nothing but his boxers rise to the surface of my mind, just in case Kayce had a hidden talent in reading people's minds. "No," I replied with a blush. "It was no one."

Kayce seemed a bit perturbed at my attempts to avoid answering any and all questions. She sighed and let her brow crease in worry. "Julia! It's been awhile now, since… since Nick. Maybe you should think about getting a rebound guy."

I blanched at the thought. "Kayce! It's only been, like, two months! My divorce hasn't even begun yet." I was scowling. Somehow all roads seemed to lead to Nick. They always did. No line of questioning was safe. Nick however seemed perfectly safe. It had been an entire week now and my stupid, moronic process server had yet to catch up with that slimy son of a bitch.

Kayce shrugged. "I'm not suggesting you get remarried or anything. I'm just saying that you shouldn't keep walking around the city with your eyes closed. There are plenty of _opportunities _out there. Plus, Nick's found someone new already…"

I scowled. No, I more than scowled. I transformed into a demon. "_Nick_," I bit the name with a vengeance, "found someone new before we even split apart, Kayce."

Kayce winced, obviously realizing her mistake.

Kayce shrugged to hide her embarrassment about her error and I softened at her remorse. _Remorse_. I wonder if Nick felt remorse. I wondered if Nick was even capable of human feelings.

"Just promise me that if a promising opportunity arises you won't pass it up," Kayce replied, snapping me out of my sick fantasy of Nick being eaten by a shark down in Florida. Would that technically make me a widow?

"Right, right," I brushed her aside. "As soon as I meet a _good_ guy, I'll make sure to make some steamy sacrifices to get over Nick," I replied sarcastically. She knew as well as I that I didn't actually believe that "good" guys even existed.

"_Well_," she hinted. So this was where this entire conversation was headed… "We _do _have that second meeting with Andrew and CK tonight. And you _did _promise to give him a second chance."

I winced. The idea was repulsive to me. (Or at least that's what I'm going to be telling myself.) "Are you insinuating that I have rebound sex with your new boyfriend?" I asked, purposely beating around her true intention.

Kayce shook her head at my ability to avoid even the most pointed hints. "Even you have to admit that he's very attractive."

Even I couldn't pretend she was still talking about Andrew. Even I couldn't pretend that she was lying.

* * *

Coincidentally, as if the stars had aligned to torture me and add insult to emotional injury, I just happened to have a meeting with Mr. CK Wilson on Friday afternoon. Oddly, up until this point, I'd been somewhat looking forward to this meeting. I was hoping it would be Mr. CK Wilson's final plea for me to end the madness and just finalize a divorce settlement of some sort. I was planning on stomping on his pleas with my pointy stilettos and basking in his misery.

But, that didn't seem possible anymore. I was a bit too preoccupied with trying to suppress a pending, and seemingly inevitable, blush from tinting my cheeks. I could barely look at CK without an inexplicable tingly feeling. What was going on with me today? Maybe Kayce was right. Perhaps I needed some good old emotionless sex. Why else would I be feeling such a pull towards the world's second biggest ass hole?

"Mrs. Grant, this is getting to the point of insanity," Mr. Wilson recited emotionlessly. His robotic nonchalance only served to remind me of the quirky, seductive smile from my dream. I mentally slapped myself. This was going to be a futile attempt.

While I was fighting an internal battle, my eyes had glazed over, and CK Wilson, who had still been speaking, finally realized that I wasn't paying even the slightest attention to him. He rolled his eyes and rubbed his dark eyebrows with the heels of his hands. He was frustrated beyond means. I smiled slightly. It was good to know that I could ride his last nerve without even trying.

CK took a stabilizing breath, trying to pull himself back together. It was also good to know that even a robot was capable of feeling frustrated. "Mrs. Grant," he sighed, finally abandoning any real hope of making any kind of progress, and settling for what I'd come for: a desperate plea. "My client is prepared to make this split under the most lenient terms possible. All he asks is for fifty percent of you shared assets and a speedy break."

"Fifty percent?" I stuttered in shock. "He's been in Grad school for the past five years! He has no assets! That's my money. He's already taken ninety percent of our _shared _assets!"

CK took another labored breath. I elbowed the Toad in the arm, hoping he would come to my aid.

"My client only took what was entitled to him after years of abuse," CK replied.

I wanted to scream. I hated men. I hated all of them. "He took _my_ money that _I_ earned. I don't owe him anything, especially not a speedy divorce so he can go on ahead and marry his tart."

CK Wilson winced. I didn't know why I'd said that. I didn't even know where it had come from, but the truth of my last statement finally hit me.

He was going to marry her.

The thought made the back of my throat burn. My eyes too. Before I knew it my entire body had bust into agonizing flames.

But what had I expected? Did I really think that he would come running back to me? I'd pushed the thought so far out of my mind, unable to even toy with it. But, unknowingly, it had been ringing around in the back of my head, just waiting for the perfect moment to pounce and break me into a million pieces. I suddenly, and for the very first time, felt fragile.

I didn't like it.

I stiffened into a pose oddly reminiscent of the exact same way Mr. CK Wilson sat every time I walked into a room. My jaw clenched. "If Nick wants to go off and marry that, that _bimbo_, then be my guest." I refused to show any sign of weakness. I am a strong, confidant woman. Fuck Nick. "But I am not going to allow him to fund his new lifestyle with my wages. I work hard for my money, Mr. Wilson. I feel absolutely no reason to share my assets with a blood-sucking vampire."

For a short nanosecond, Mr. Wilson almost seemed to soften. For that impeccable, brief moment, I thought that maybe he wasn't on Nick's side after all and maybe he felt more about this whole exchange than he ever let show. But nanoseconds end very quickly, and he was back to Mr. CK Wilson before my doubt could run too deep.

"Be that as it may, your process server has been wholly unsuccessful for the past week. Either we end this now or my client might be forced to… return your primitive antics."

I knew right away what he was insinuating. I was either to sign away fifty percent of my assets now, or be chased around San Francisco by a process server. If Nick was successful, he could get it all and I'd not only be living with Kayce for the rest of my life, but my salon would be taken away and I would, after all these years of fighting it, end up cutting hair at the local Great Clips.

I swallowed hard. I couldn't let that happen.

* * *

CK Wilson had, after about an hour of my internal debate, adjourned our little meeting. I was still lost in thought; unable to notice that neither of the other two men I shared the table with had even began to move.

CK still blinked at me. He just blinked and blinked, his face wiped clean of all thought and emotion. He was just blinking. I stared back at him, those electric eyes flashing me back to a place I hadn't comprehended in the past hour. I crossed my arms over my chest, almost as if I was lying, nearly naked, on that mahogany table once again.

But CK's blinking was the least of my worries. I had another problem: The Toad. The Toad was normally out the door in lightening speed as soon as these things were over. It registered dully in my mind that he was studying my profile with uncharacteristic interest. I turned to him, somewhat curious about such odd behavior from a very one-dimensional man.

"Is there something wrong, Mr. Hudgins?" I asked, mildly curious.

Mr. Hudgins hesitated before he spoke. He was so unlike me. I never thought before I spoke. Mr. Hudgins was careful to make sure that the words he chose were in fact the words he really wanted. I supposed that's why he never spoke much.

"I-I was just wondering, Mrs. Grant… er, Julia, if you would like to accompany me to dinner tonight?" He cleared his throat and loosened his tie as I had a few moments to process my shock. "I mean... to discuss your case and such."

This was a lie. Mr. Hudgins had hardly any input on my case. He mostly slept during these fun little meetings. That left only one explanation… "Mr. Hudgins are you asking me out on a date?"

Mr. Hudgins cleared his throat again. "Yes," he replied slowly and carefully. "Yes I suppose I am."

My eyebrows shot up in mingled surprise and disgust. Me? Go on a date with the Toad? This was too weird to even grasp.

Suddenly, a third party cleared their throat. I looked over to CK Wilson, who was slowly packing his papers back into his briefcase. Was it just me or did CK look oddly… protective. "Mrs. Grant, don't you have a particularly _important_ meeting with your sister tonight?"

What? How would CK know? Oh right. I suddenly remembered that I'd promised to give CK a "second shot." Oh crap.

Actually…

I smiled at Mr. Hudgins. This could be an interesting night after all. "Mr. Wilson is right, Mr. Hudgins. I do have plans to meet with my sister and some of her more _archaic _friends tonight." Mr. Hudgins face fell. I looked away and stared right into the mocking smile of Mr. CK Wilson. "However, I would love to have your company to help prevent socializing with such _lowly_ people."

Mr. Hudgins's face lit up out of the corner of my eye. He smiled and rushed out of the office, with only brief instructions as to time and place, leaving before his luck could change and I could change my mind.

CK didn't even register a fraction of the shock I'd secretly been hoping for. He merely smiled; a foreign concept on such a usually placid face. I stared back at him, trying to place the familiarity of such a triumphant grin. I just looked at him blankly. He was blinking again. I found it oddly distracting. I hadn't even noticed that the boardroom was deserted again.

I suddenly recognized the look that lit his face. It was that same seductive grin from my dream; back to haunt my conscience.

* * *

_Soooo… _

:D

_What did you think? I had a specific request for a bit more sexual tension between CK and Julia. Trust me people, there will be sexual tension aplenty! I had fun writing that dream sequence. I just hope it wasn't too cheesy, although it was meant to be a bit… satirical. _

_I hope you guys have a happy Thanksgiving. I also hope I find a bit more time to write things for you (particularly a chapter of "Love to the Tune of a Country Song".) and also manage to survive Black Friday. Ah! The joys of working in retail._

_And, in the spirit of thanks, let me thank you doubly for that review you're about to submit._


	6. A Whole New World

_**Love is a Four Letter Word**_

_A Whole New World_

When I was seventeen I feel in love for the very first time. He was the quarterback of our high school football team and didn't even know I existed. I aimed high, I know it, but I couldn't help myself; he had the most beautiful hair I'd ever seen. I've always had a thing for hair. Unfortunately, it never worked out between the two of us. I was far too invisible for his noticing… plus he had the intelligence of a rock. I hear he's very happy nowadays driving cabs in central LA.

When I was 21, I fell in love for the second time. He had nice spiky hair. In retrospect, he was as full of crap as his hair was with jell, but at the time I saw nothing but how amazing he was. We would laugh and joke and I thought I was happy with him, but in the end things didn't work out with contestant number two either. I hear he's living in Florida with my trampy ex-secretary and is genuinely the world's biggest jerk-off.

But none of that matters now because, at the ripe old age of 26, as of five minutes ago, I have fallen in love for the third time.

"Julia, have you seen my black camisole—That's for the cake!"

I jumped and hid my secret lover behind my back. I grimaced slightly as I noticed Kayce glaring at me, still wearing her bathrobe, and looking right angry. "Why are you eating my frosting?" she asked me, hissing as if she were talking to a naughty infant.

I quickly licked the excess frosting out of the corner of my lips, trying to hide the last of the evidence. I then opened my mouth to explain, but found that my tongue was stuck to the chocolaty substance on the roof of my mouth. "Becawz ib wasbes swow gwood."

She glared. She snarled. Is that how I look when I'm angry? I hope not. That's especially intimidating. "I hope," she spat, looking me up and down as I sat at her kitchen table in a casual pair of jeans and a t-shirt, "you get fat!"

Ouch. That was a wee bit harsh. "Wacwee!" I groaned. "I'm dwepwessed!" Oh chocolate frosting! Must you be so difficult? I swallowed hard, making sure to clear my mouth of all remnants of chocolate frosting while Kayce wrestled the rest of the jar out from behind my back and whisked it away. "How am I supposed to eat my feelings if you're always taking away my junk food?" I asked, my voice finally normal, as she shoved the miniscule remnants in the jar back into the refrigerator where it belonged. Stupid Kayce!

"Why do we need cake anyway?" I asked, my lip jutted out in a pout and my voice very clipped. You never realize the simple consolation that frosting can bring until you go through a divorce. I don't see how ex-wives manage to get through it without putting on at least 100 pounds. I'm planning on at least doubling in size.

"Because Andrew requested it specifically," she replied.

"He requested you bake him a cake?" I asked, trying not to let my pessimism get the best of me. "How very 1950s of him." Pessimism always wins in the end.

Oh no. Now I've made her angry. She jutted out her chin and held it up higher in the air than was strictly normal. "Andrew is very sweet and intelligent," she replied, her tone just as clipped as mine. "He is everything a good man should be."

I rolled my eyes and resisted the urge to tell him that there was no such thing. "Well, he's also a pretentious prig."

Kayce was suddenly confused. I smirked. I loved winning. "What the hell is a prig?" she asked with skepticism.

In truth I had absolutely no clue. I think that's what Rene Zellweger called Colin Firth in Bridget Jones's Diary. I shrugged. "I haven't a clue, but it seems ambiguous enough."

She rolled her eyes and pulled the towel that was twisted around her hair out and snapped it at me. "You are truly a freak. I think it best that you finally admit that you're adopted."

"Sorry, Hon. Mom and Dad are both brunettes. Out of the two of us, you're ten times more likely to be adopted."

"And would that be such a bad thing?" she asked with a knowing smirk.

I thought about my mother. I thought about her inability to consider other's feelings. I thought about the phone call I'd received the day after I found out about Nick and Mandy, ordering me to make amends and possibly fake a pregnancy if the situation called for it. Anything to protect her from the horrors of a broken marriage; emphasis on _her. _I was hardly considered in the whole ordeal.

I shrugged. "Perhaps we're both adopted."

"Dream on." Kayce snapped her towel again. "And then get dressed. Andrew and CK will be here in half an hour."

I rolled my eyes. How had I managed to rope myself into this whole ordeal again? Oh yeah! Char and his ridiculous plans. I think it's safe to say that any acts of homicide on my part for the night should rightfully be blamed on him. I'll place $20 on Conner Klein Wilson ending up face down in a sewer south of El Paso. Accidentally, of course…

Then I remembered the cherry on top. The sprinkles to decorate the cake of my misery. Why oh why had I agreed to bring the Toad along as my date? Perhaps it was something crazy, like an inane compulsion to try and make CK Wilson, the human robot, just a little bit jealous. Nah. What am I saying? I couldn't care less what CK Wilson thinks of me. Tonight I would dress like the homeless men who beg for change on the outskirts on Embarcadero, or one of those crazy men that decide they want to swim back into the city all the way from Alcatraz. That's the great thing about ArtSpan. I can dress any old way I wish and merely pass it off as boho-chic.

Exactly 30 minutes after Kayce had claimed that Andrew and CK were on their way, they arrived. Punctual little prigs, aren't they? I, a proud supporter of the cliché "fashionably late," was still in the shower singing AC/DC at the top of my lungs. I stepped out of my steamy bathroom in one of those tiny towels, the kind that are so small they barely fit around the torso of a Barbie doll, only to find CK staring at the ceiling and Andrew smirking.

"So is it true then?" I looked at Andrew. I'm pretty sure he's crazy. "Are you really TNT?"

I blushed. Kayce should consider soundproofing those damn walls. I quickly rushed down the hallway to my bedroom. I heard Andrew whistle and mutter, "C'mon CK. You can't still consider her to be a floozy after that?"

"You're right. Now she's merely a tone deaf floozy."

I slammed the door, knowing they'd realize that I'd heard that. Floozy? Seriously, is that the best insult we can come up with? I'd have expected nothing short of man-eater.

* * *

"Save me, save me now," I hissed into the phone. I was hiding from the Toad in the confines of a miniscule women's bathroom trying to find a moment's peace.The night was going horribly. The Toad was especially clingy, feeling this unending urge to touch me at every given opportunity and have a visual fencing match with CK, who would merely shrug and look away. Andrew's lovely sister, Courtney, had long since joined our little escapade and taken up permanent residence clinging tightly to the arm of Mr. Wilson. Kayce and Andrew had melted together into one superhuman that never stops giggling. I was ten seconds away from poking out my eyeballs. 

The phone suddenly spoke back. "Oh, Jules. The complaints I put up with from you."

"Charlie Davidson! You are the one that has roped me in to this entire ordeal. If I have to prevent the goddamn Toad from trying to 'casually' graze my boob one more time I _will_ murder him."

Char laughed. "I hardly see how that's my problem."

Someone was knocking on the bathroom door. "Please, Char. Please, please, please, please, please."

Charlie sighed. "I was going to go out tonight. My astrologer said I was going to meet my soul mate tonight. You owe me your life and one soul mate," he sighed.

I tried to jump up and down in excitement, but the bathroom was so tiny that I merely hit my head on the ceiling. These stupid little art galleries! I understand that space is limited, but does that mean the building needs to only be big enough to house a midget?

I quickly made plans for Char to "casually" bump into our little group at one of the more notable art galleries about a block away, and braced myself for another forty-five minutes of pain and torture before my knight in shining armor would arrive. Why must my knight be gay?

I squeezed past the snaking line of desperate ladies trying to get into the tiny bathroom and made my way back over to our table in the little café. Very few galleries are big enough to also house a café. This one wasn't either, but that didn't stop them from trying.

"And the next day, to my utter surprise, there was the exact same pony I'd asked Daddy for the night before."

I thanked God that I hadn't been present for that wondrous little story by Courtney about the pains of a poor repressed fairy princess. CK looked as though his teeth were being drilled on without Novocain and Andrew's eyes were clouded over with boredom. Kayce was the only one that managed to look even slightly interested, but I knew that was only because she was secretly trying to visualize the beaches of Mexico… and possibly a half-naked Andrew serving her Pina Coladas.

I clapped slowly and smirked as I climbed back onto the stool around the tiny table meant originally for two, but presently packed with our group of six. "What a charming tale that was, Courtney. You have a real gift for storytelling." She was affronted by my sarcasm. "Perhaps it's time for a career change? What would daddy say if you quit the firm?"

Courtney glared. Originally she'd introduced herself as a successful actress, but I quickly discovered she was a receptionist at Klein, Wilson, and Stern—a job she'd only obtained after she'd begged her father for it.

"Oh Julia," Courtney sighed sarcastically. "Perhaps someone is a bit threatened by the success of others? I'm sensing layers of insecurities in your aura."

"Actually, my name is Julie. Julie Grant."

Courtney's jaw dropped. "As in the hairstylist?" She gulped.

I nodded slowly. I gave her a week before she showed up at the salon begging for an open appointment.

"Can we get out of here?" Andrew asked gruffly. He sounded as if he'd just been woken from a prolonged nap. He had jumped out of his chair just moments before when an innocent passer-by had elbowed him in the head. "This place is a bit crowded."

Kayce smiled and hopped off her own iron, sculpted stool. "Can we hit the Protozoa? They have some of the best abstracts in town."

The rest of us followed in Kayce and Andrew's wake as they pushed out of the crowded gallery. The Toad tried to grab my hand. I quickly pulled my hand out of his sweaty palm.

"Mind if we hit the Rocquette after that?" I added. I'd told Char we'd meet him at the Rocquette.

"Of course." Kayce smiled and winked at me as her and Andrew clasped hands and started walking down the street. "I wouldn't want poor Char to have to wait too long to rescue you. It might severely upset his nobility complex."

* * *

"C'mon kid, it's not going that badly," Char said coming up to stand beside me as I stared at the tropical paradise depicted on the canvas in front of me. It looked so peaceful and nice there. Why couldn't I be there? 

I pried my eyes off the beautiful scene before me and glared at Char. "He told me that he thought our 'offspring would be highly efficient specimen.'"

Char laughed. In all fairness, he tried to hold it back, but merely ended up spitting all over me. "I'll admit that Drew is a strange one, but he's obviously just…" He stopped talking. There was no real excuse for telling a woman that she was "prime mating material." Stupid Toad.

"Just make sure he doesn't come near me," I muttered. I hated men. I hated dating and trying to put up with all the ridiculous things men say. I didn't want to have to worry about "my ticking biological clock." That was why I got married. If only life were that simple…

"And what do you propose I do?" Char asked, silently mocking me with a badly hidden smile. At times like this I even hated gay men.

"Take him away," I muttered. "Take him out to a bar, get him drunk, and explain to him that I'd prefer if he never spoke to me again."

Char grimaced. "Do I have to?"

I shot him my most vicious look. I think he got the message. We both sighed and looked back at the neon, tropical painting. Paradise. But it was merely a painting; a covering on top of another blank canvas.

After another couple of seconds, Char sighed again, cupped his hand reassuringly on my shoulder then disappeared to take care of my little problem. I don't have any idea what had caused the Toad to make his "liberating" little speech about how even though I was inadequate it was time the two of us settled into a comfortable relationship. I wasn't even able to pour my wine on him before Char had whisked him away and left me to fume in peace.

I continued to stare at the painting. I am 26. Not forty. My biological clock was _not _running out. I wasn't a reject of society. I was merely going through a divorce. One in four couples do. Why was I singled out as a freak for doing something that most people do? Was I honestly expected to stay with Nick, even knowing that our entire relationship was fake?

"That seems like a nice place."

I looked up, at the exact same spot that Char had stood beside me just a few moments before. I took a deep breath and braced myself for a battle. "Aren't you missing something CK?"

CK's eyebrows creased in confusion. He looked down at his empty hands. "No," he replied eventually after doing what seemed to be severe mental calculations.

"Where's you appendage?" I replied. "You know, 5'9" chick in a tiny dress? Did you lose her already?"

CK lifted one shoulder in a kind of half shrug, and, if I hadn't known any better, smiled slightly. "She's out back. She had a hors d'oeuvre earlier. Needless to say it was going to go straight to her hips if she didn't do something about it."

Curious. Was CK Wilson making a joke? "Mr. Wilson, are you implying that the immaculate fairy princess is a bulimic?"

CK did another half shrug and looked down at his shoes. "Oh, would you look at that? The shoe fits after all."

I laughed slightly. I couldn't help it. It was a compulsion. This CK was mystifying. I looked back at my paradise and tried to evaluate him. This whole conversation seemed very out of character for him.

"So you like the painting, I assume." He was leaning kind of close to me, closer than Char had been, and half muttering into my ear.

"One should never assume. It only makes an ass out of you and me," I replied, not even looking up at him, but focusing all my effort on the painting. I couldn't look at him. I refused.

"Are you reducing me to a pile of clichés?" In my imagination, he had an eyebrow quirked, but I continued to stare down the painting rather than the man.

"Sometimes I know that there is intelligent life on other planets because they haven't tried to contact us," was my only reply.

"Some people don't know the difference between thinking for yourself and thinking of yourself," he reputed with a tiny smile.

"Some people are alive only because it is illegal to kill them." No one said it had to be subtle. It never was my strong suit.

"Some people think holding on makes them strong, sometimes its letting go." Ouch. That one hurt, Mr. Wilson.

This one is dedicated to you, befuddled robot man. "If you don't love, you can't live; if you don't live, you can't love."

CK grabbed a plastic cup of wine of the closet table and offered it to me. "When you are standing on the edge of a cliff a step forward is not progress."

"The man who makes no mistakes does not usually make anything," I bit bitterly going for the insult rather than the game, and refusing to take the cup.

"I make mistakes," he replied, breaking our string. "I make tons of mistakes."

I looked at him. Once again, and just like every other time, he was dressed perfectly. Not a thread out of place, and camouflaged beautifully to blend perfectly into his surroundings. His hair was perfectly organized. Everything was perfect. "Oh really? What is your daunting flaw then, Mr. Wilson?"

CK took a sip of the lingering cup of wine. "I suppose it would be my inability to forgive. Or possibly my inability to forget."

I looked him up and down. "There is no flaw in a good memory," I replied with a facetious smile. "Or a good grudge."

"I have learned that no matter how good a friend is, they're going to hurt you every once in a while and you must forgive them for that," he replied with a knowing smirk, returning to our banter of overused clichés.

"What about a lover, Mr. Wilson?" I was hardly going to take his pointed hints lying down. "Have you ever had a spurned lover?"

CK shrugged. "I have been burned if that's what you mean."

I didn't see how that was possible. If someone kept their heart in a hyperbaric chamber, the odds of it getting broken seemed slim to none. I finally looked up at him. Those baby blues were twinkling, and his face was flushed slightly. It was hardly the look of a brokenhearted fool.

"You know what they say, Mr. Wilson," I added. "Love is a four letter word." I twirled my finger around one of my stray curls and smiled sweetly at him. "Now I best be going before your bimbo catches you fraternizing with a floozy." And with that I flounced off in the opposite direction leaving him alone in my paradise.

* * *

_It's been awhile. I'm so very sorry. After Thanksgiving I was buried in an avalanche. Luckily I was rescued by a pack of wild dogs, where they took me in and provided me with shelter, food, and a little TLC. A deformed Yeti then abducted me from my new friends and took me to his cave to have his way with me. Fortunately, the Yeti was merely a very lovely man named Steve that hadn't shaved in quite some time. He taught me the ways of the mountains and eventually began to love me. After some time, I was discovered by a group of pilgrims on a religious mission in the mountains. They bound and gagged me and, unfortunately, returned me to my family. _

_That's when I remembered that there aren't any mountains in Florida. Funny how that works._


	7. Just a Spoonful of Sugar

_**Love is a Four Letter Word**_

_Just a Spoonful of Sugar_

I jumped three times and pulled as hard as I possibly could. I tugged, yanked, and sucked it in as far as was humanly possible. I did some more jumping, grunting with effort. Finally, I gave up.

"Fuck you jeans," I shouted falling onto my bed and trying to catch my breath as my jeans constricted around me. Slowly I rolled around until I was standing again and put just as much effort into taking them off as I had to put them on. I cursed multiple times under my breath. They weren't moving that way either. I fell back onto my bed. This time I didn't think it was possible to try and stand back up.

So this is what rock bottom feels like. Here I am: A divorced loser who can't even fit into her jeans. Her last pair of jeans. Those were my fat jeans.

But I wouldn't cry. I would, however, panic when I realized that these damn jeans are so tight that I was right in assuming I wouldn't be able to stand back up again.

Scratch that. _This_ is rock bottom: Calling out in anguish for your gorgeous sister to come and help you peel off your last skin-tight pair of jeans because you can't stand up. At least Kayce had the decency not to laugh. Nick would have laughed. Then again, if Nick were still around maybe I wouldn't have found myself in this predicament.

Kayce offered to take me shopping for some new clothes, but I wasn't sure I could handle the idea of buying a double-digit size just yet, plus I couldn't afford it. Then she offered to rid the apartment of all things fattening. I didn't see how that would help anything. I suggested that she call Char and tell him that I wouldn't be able to meet him for lunch.

That she refused to do.

I don't know why I was so reluctant to meet Char for lunch. I'd been secretly plotting all the diabolical lies I could tell my best friend to get out of this little soirée. I think I just had an ominous feeling in the pit of my stomach. Or possibly that was indigestion.

I shimmied my way into one of my more loose fitting dresses, grabbing a light sweater to protect me against the October rains and glaring menacingly at the opposing jeans that lay in a forgotten corner, where Kayce had tossed them as soon as she managed to strip them off my gelatinous thighs.

I also glared as Kayce as I exited and stomped down the narrow set of stairs; just to make it plain how frustrated I was that she wouldn't help her favorite sister get out of a grueling obligation.

I was frustrated that I had sunk so low that I found myself viewing a lunch date with my gay best friend as an obligation, but after last night's chaos I couldn't bring myself to enjoy the thought of any man, gay or otherwise.

As I was contemplating the disappointment of men across the universe, the universe's greatest jack-ass called out my name. Speak of the devil and he shall appear. It's no coincidence that the devil is a man, you know.

"CK Wilson, why on earth are you waiting outside my apartment?" I growled as he hopped off the curb he'd been waiting on and came to my side.

He raised his eyebrows. "Just… waiting."

I shook my head and glared. "That's not a real answer. I refuse to accept it."

"You refuse to accept it?" he asked in doubtful awe. I nodded once in rigid determination. "And what if that's the only answer I have?"

I spun quickly, my floaty dress twirling around me and my heavy purse smacking him angrily on the side. "Then you should just leave me alone," I growled as he jogged lightly to keep up with my angry strut down the street.

"Then I suppose I'll just have to provide a better answer," he suggested with minor traces of amusement. I didn't know which demeanor I hated more: Brooding or amused?

"I'd rather you didn't."

My objections to his presence didn't deter him an inch and I had to deal with his harassment all the way to the restaurant.

My living nuisance and I navigated through the bohemian restaurant all the way to the back where Char and an unknown brunette man were waiting for us. CK stopped momentarily to request that a passing waitress set another spot at our table for him. She glared at him. He smiled for probably the first time in his life and she rushed off quickly to oblige him.

I muttered obscenities about the frailty of the woman's resolve. I mean… so what!? CK Wilson has award winning dimples and his eyes are really rather striking. BUT! He's a _jackass.

* * *

_

"What on earth are you doing here with the Toad!" I shouted as soon as we were around the corner and out of earshot from the table.

Char winced. "It was a long night, Jules. A very _long_ night." He rubbed his eyes. I contemplated smacking him across his cheek.

"Are you going to tell me that during the course of last night, a man who had proposed to me just hours before had suddenly decided to change his entire lifestyle and become gay?!"

Char winced again. Hangover or not, I think I had the right to yell. "It doesn't work like that Julia. He's always been gay. He's just now admitting it."

I clenched my fists and took three deep, calming breaths. For some odd reason, I was still very angry. I wasn't angry at the Toad for being gay—he could be whatever he damn well pleased. I wasn't angry at Char for facilitating this entire ordeal—I'd expect nothing short of interference from Char. I wasn't even angry at CK Wilson for being a jackass—or at least no angrier than usual. I was mad at the damn flippancy of men.

I mean c'mon! Are there no good men out there anymore?

I took another deep breath. Ok. I could deal with this.

Char didn't like the look of this. "Julia? What are you going to do?" he asked me cautiously.

I shook him off and strode back to our table with purpose and speed, darting between the tables with ease… until I hit my shin on a chair. I winced and moaned but continued to toward the table as if nothing had happened. All three men were staring at me rather oddly.

I plopped down into my seat and smiled cheerily. "So," I sighed with the same sing-song voice Kayce has whenever she's in one of those sickeningly good moods, and smiled at the Toad. "I hear you're gay!"

The Toad's jaw dropped; Char, who had followed me to our table, rubbed his forehead; and CK Wilson stifled his laughter into his napkin.

I ignored all three of them. "So did you realize you were gay before or after you asked me out on a date?" I continued.

"Julia," Char sighed in warning.

"Shut it Char!" I snapped. "I think I have every right to know if I turned a thirty year old lawyer into a thirty year old homosexual," I replied evenly.

The Toad coughed lightly, trying to clear his throat. He looked oddly sweaty. "…After?" he guessed.

I bit my lip. Great. What an absolutely great day. I have become so atrocious that I am literally turning men gay. "I guess this means I am in fact, officially, a total monstrosity!" I threw my napkin onto the table and rushed out of the restaurant, once again hitting my shin on the exact same spot on yet another chair.

I got outside and screamed as loud as I possibly could. An old homeless man sitting on the street literally looked at me like I was insane and quickly crossed the street.

This was it. This was what my life had come to.

"Fuck them. Fuck them all," I muttered, slamming my purse repeatedly against the side of the building.

"Breaking your cell phone probably won't help at all," I heard a deep voice mutter from behind me. I whirled around on CK Wilson, but begrudgingly admitted he was right. I plopped down onto a curb and dug through my purse to make sure my cell phone wasn't harmed.

CK Wilson took the liberty of sitting beside me. "This really has absolutely nothing to do with you," he said with ease. My relief about having a fully-intact phone was quickly pushed aside with another wave of anger. "Not everything is about you, you know."

I glared at him out of the corner of my eye. "What the fuck are you even doing here, CK?"

He shrugged again. Did he not realize that his presence wasn't helping?

"That's bullshit and you know it," I muttered. "Do you get a rise out of my misery?"

CK shook his head. "Actually, I don't." He looked at me again. It was worse than taking sick pleasure out of my pain; he was looking at me as if I was the most pathetic person alive. Was that his twisted form of compassion?

"What do I have to do to make you go away?"

CK hesitated. Eventually he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a rather thick wad of papers. "You could take these," he suggested. I looked at them. This was it. The cherry on top of the day from hell. CK Wilson was about to serve me with the divorce settlement under Nick's terms. I'd lose it all.

"I don't want _those_," I muttered, on the brink of sobbing, as I buried my head in my arms. At this point I really didn't have a choice. I had to take them. That was the whole point of being served. I knew there was a reason CK Wilson has followed halfway across SoMa.

My future quickly flashed before my eyes. I would lose my salon. I would probably become even fatter than I was now. I'd have to dye my hair from a box. Kayce would eventually get married and I'd have to move back to Santa Monica to live with my parents and cut hair at Mr. Ray's Barbershop. Eventually I would die, fat and alone, and be eaten by my own flabby cats.

Wait. Why would I ever get cats? I'm allergic to cats.

"Are you okay?" I heard CK ask, but I refused to look up so that this gorgeous, arrogant man could witness my downfall.

Eventually I realized that there was absolutely no way I'd ever get back to Kayce's apartment if I didn't look up so I subtly wiped my watery eyes on my dress and looked into the sparkling baby blue eyes of the devil.

CK took a deep breath. "Can I ask you something?" he asked slowly. I nodded. You see, the thing about rock bottom is that you can't get any lower. "Why didn't you get a pre-nup?"

Okay. I had not been expecting that. I shrugged and rolled with the question. "Because I was young, stupid, and in love." I took a deep breath and remembered just how crazy I'd been for Nick back then. I would have done anything for him. I was the luckiest girl in the world, picking out lace trimmings and sharing my nights with the man of my dreams. I'd been happy. How did I end up here? "Believe it or not, there was time in my life when I wasn't the wicked witch of the west."

CK smiled slightly. I understood why he used those dimples sparingly; those babies could render a girl unconscious.

He gave a single soft chuckle. "You're not nearly as menacing as you think."

I glared. "That's funny because you're just as big of an ass hole as you think."

"I'm an ass hole?"

I looked down at that sickening wad of paper. "Worse," I tacked on.

He took a deep breath. "Believe it or not, there was a time in my life where I was an arrogant snob."

"You're right. I don't believe it."

"Fine. I'll prove it." He picked up the papers and awkwardly shoved them back into his back pocket. My eyebrows were creased in confusion. I didn't even grasp what he was doing. He shrugged at me. "It's just for today. Tomorrow it's a whole new ball game."

"You mean…"

He stood up. "You'll be seeing me around Julia. Be careful," he warned and before I had even managed to understand, he was gone.

I picked myself back up rather slowly. I had a real future again, if only for a couple of hours. What did I want to do with my time?

I took a deep breath and looked back at the bohemian restaurant again. I had two very angry gay men to apologize to.

* * *

_Sorry it's short, but I wanted to get something out before the new year. _

_HAPPY NEW YEARS!_


	8. Let's Go Fly a Kite

_**Love is a Four Letter Word**_

_Let's Go Fly a Kite_

"No more," I gasped, sweat pouring down my face and dripping all across my body. I was on the absolute edge. I couldn't go any farther. "Please"—gasp. "Just let me breathe."

Char looked me square in the eye. "Just keep going," he urged. "You'll thank me later."

"No," I muttered with difficulty, bending over with my arms on top of my head, still gasping desperately for air. "I'll"—gasp—"kill you."

Char chuckled. "That wasn't even a mile." I hated that he was standing there perfectly fine. He wasn't even sweating or panting. If I had the energy to do so, I might have killed him. "You can keep going."

"Haven't you"—gasp—"ever heard"—gasp—"of baby"—gasp—"steps?"

Char chuckled, enjoying my misery. I knew he was still angry with me for my minor freak out the other day. Gay men have the most torturous punishment. Getting back in shape? Why would anyone inflict such cruelty?

Char was staring over my shoulder when suddenly all traces of humor escaped his face. "Jules, get ready to run."

I groaned. "Please no," I muttered in absolute agony. I'd never liked running. Why couldn't I ride a bike or do yoga or something? Why couldn't I just get fat? I mean honestly! What is so wrong with a soft, gooey middle? People like Oreos and they have a soft center.

"No Jules, I don't just mean run," Char continued, his eyes wide and slightly scared. I would have turned around to see what had him so off-kilter, but I had a stinging cramp in my gut and any movement meant tons of agony. "We have a visitor."

I knew who it was without even looking. Mr. CK Wilson had promised that he'd be seeing me around, and see me he did. Everywhere I went that god-awful jerk was sitting there or soon to follow. He was nearly impossible to shake and I'd been forced to pay the Toad overtime to keep him posted outside the salon and make sure that that great ass-hole couldn't get inside.

I didn't think I could avoid him much longer and it had only been two days. My only hope was to pray that Nick slipped up before me or else I'd be forced to join the circus as the freak show's fat lady. Plus, I didn't think I had another guilt escape up my sleeve.

I groaned again as I tried to stand up straight. I knew Char was expecting me to outrun Mr. Wilson on foot, but I just didn't have it in me. "Just"—gasp—"let it"—gasp—"end. It's"—gasp—"over."

Char clucked his tongue and scowled. "Not on my watch it's not! I refuse to let you ruin your life." Char bent over and grabbed my hand, forcing me upright with strength I would have never guessed he'd possessed and dragging me forward. We reached the end of the block in record timing and Char quickly threw me onto a stopped trolley.

"Go, go, go," he muttered repeatedly under his breath as he watched CK Wilson quickly stride toward us, not running, but moving faster than it seemed I ever would. He was about three yards away from us and I saw my cat-haired fantasy flash before my eyes once again as he shouted out my name, but before he could hop on, the trolley lurched forward and we were off.

CK Wilson stood in our trolley's dust, while Char and I cheered, and I threw him an innocent shrug and a quick wink to keep him company.

* * *

Three days later, I was peering out the window in the futile hope that the Toad might have finally scared Mr. Wilson off and I could sneak out to get some lunch. The Toad, despite his new fashionable designer duds and a lot of guidance in a small amount of time from my best friend, still wasn't very competent and was instead sitting outside my salon chatting merrily with the devil incarnate. 

I groaned in frustration just as my belly grumbled in hunger, and threw my comb clear across the salon. Mindy Hastings, trust fund extraordinaire, looked at me as if I were insane. Perhaps I truly was. I hardly knew anymore. All I did know was that I was hungry and frustrated and very, very angry that the only places I was safe in were my smelly apartment which I shared with my disgustingly perfect sister, her Mr. Perfect boyfriend, and the sickening stench of fresh paint; and my disturbing, pristine salon filled with mindless women and even more mindless prattle.

Normally I liked these places just fine, but being confined so strictly to them was driving me to insanity and back. Plus, I'd never been that normal to begin with.

"Chill," Char sighed, just as frustrated with my mood and life as I was, "I'll go get you lunch as soon as I'm done with Mindy."

Oh and did I mention that my best friend, and self elected, personal trainer is trying to starve me to death? He'd been getting me lunch everyday this week, and, although the gesture was very sweet in a time of desperation, if I was coerced into consuming one more healthy meal I would scream. For god's sake! Is there really anything wrong with a good old pizza? Fat jeans be damned. I could always buy a new pair.

"I don't want you to have to go get me lunch," I snapped. "I'm a grown girl. If I want to go get my own damn lunch, I should be able to go get my own damn lunch."

Char sighed again in frustration. I hated when he did that. It made me want to punch him.

Mindy giggled. "Then just, like, go out there. He's cute anyway. You could use your feminine wiles on him to distract him."

I didn't know how to explain to Mindy that, unlike her, I didn't have feminine wiles. I just had a killer right hook and extra weight around my middle. Plus, CK Wilson was a robot and probably unable to compute such foreign emotions as lust and passion.

Which brings me to another cause of unjustifiable, as well as justifiable, anger: the dreams. They haunt me. And they won't stop. One night we're pressed against a wall going at it, the next we're sneaking around in my parents house, or trying to keep quiet so my roommate won't hear—and failing miserably. I mean honestly! If I have one more sex dream about CK Wilson I will kill myself.

If I were to ever be allowed to be in the same room as him again, I don't think I'd be able to look him in the eye. So I have come to the logical conclusion—I just won't sleep anymore.

I groaned and shoved my face into my hands. "Char, can't you just make him go away?" I begged. Don't let my complaining be confusing. Char had been absolutely great this last week. I have been tired, obnoxious and moody and he's not only put up with me, he's protected me. His heart has been in the right place the entire time. I just can't stand to be around him for one more second.

Char looked up at me and blinked. "Drew's trying."

I wanted to scream at him that the Toad's pathetic attempts at distraction weren't going to cut it. They'd spent hours outside together already and I got the feeling they were discussing the weather and other mundane details. Or possibly even disclosing the top secret details about my divorce case.

I felt the sudden urge to burst out there as soon as possible. I mean, they could be talking about _me. _And knowing my relationship with both men, I felt as though the odds were that they only had bad things to say.

I screwed up all my concentration and means of distraction to keep myself from the rash decision to interrupt their little tête. I needed to do something. I needed to cut something.

I looked over only to see Mindy smiling disgustingly and climbing happily out of Char's chair. Crap. I missed my chance. I reached over to grab my favorite pair of swivel scissors. I concentrated hard on the mirror. Hmm. Perhaps it was time I tried bangs again. They were totally coming back in style.

"You probably shouldn't do that," Char said stepping in and whisking away my scissors before I could even make the smallest snip. It's like he watches me constantly and as soon as he sees something that might even bring a flicker of joy to my life, he takes it away.

"Give me back my scissors you nasty sadist," I proclaimed loudly, reaching up for my shears. Mindy, who was talking merrily with Tanya—the receptionist that had taken Mandy's place, looked at me once again as if I was crazy then quickly shuffled out of the salon.

"You'll regret this when your bangs are reminiscent of the eighties and you can't go in public due to embarrassment," Charlie replied, seeming oddly amused by my predicament.

"I'll invest in headbands," I grumbled, snatching my scissors away from him with an angry look.

Char shrugged and gave up, walking away so as to not lay witness to my tragic downfall. I lifted my scissors slowly, suddenly ever so slightly nervous, and was about to make the first cut when the door tinkled open.

I looked up, my scissors still poised of my hair, only to see the lovely sneering face of the one and only Courtney Klein.

"Did you have an appointment?" Tanya asked her as I felt my hand fall back to my side and my jaw drop open.

Courtney sneered even more—if that was even possible. "Appointment?" she echoed in disgust. "I don't need an _appointment_."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Tanya replied, politely overlooking Courtney's tone. "We don't take walk-ins."

"Do you _know _who I am?" Courtney asked vehemently.

Tanya slowly shook her head.

And that's when I jumped into action. I'd wanted something to cut. For once, the fates at be must have heard my pleas. Courtney Klein would be the _perfect _guinea pig.

"Don't worry, Tanya." I quickly skipped over to Tanya and patted her sweetly on the shoulder, happier than I'd been I days. "Fairy princesses don't need appointments."

Courtney sneered again. I idly wondered if her face was stuck like that.

"Whatever," Tanya muttered and left me to deal with our _lovely_ customer.

"So Courtney," I said with a smile, "what brings you to my humble salon?"

Courtney looked up at me. "I just want to look good."

No. All she really wanted was to brag to her friends that she got a walk-in with _the _Julie Grant—recently featured in Vogue.

"You're in luck," I replied, smiling my most evilly wicked smile and whisking her back toward my chair. "Good just happens to be my specialty."

"So?" I asked as I pushed her slowly into the chair. "Did you see Mr. Wilson outside the salon today and thought you'd come on in?"

Courtney giggled as if she were talking to a mentally challenged child. "Why would CK's dad be sitting outside a hair salon?"

I rolled my eyes and hid a smirk as I wrapped a smock around her shoulders. Fairy princess indeed, but I took sick pleasure in being smarter. And having access to her follicles. They were under my jurisdiction now. I had the power.

"Hmm, that would be weird," I remarked conversationally. What would I do to the lovely fairy princess? Perhaps a fro? Or a weave? "Did you have any particular hairstyle in mind?" I asked, checking the evenness of her length.

Courtney shook her head. "Maybe like Jennifer Aniston's or something?"

"That's a thought." Oh no sweetheart. We could do so much _better_ than that. "But have you ever considered getting a perm?"

* * *

It wasn't my conscience that stopped me from destroying Courtney Klein's hair. Of course it wasn't! I'm not even sure I have a conscience anymore. 

No, that pesky mythological conscience wasn't what interceded my beautiful sabotage. Hell! It wasn't even Char that got in the way. It was business.

I knew Courtney Klein. Not well, thank god. But I knew the kind of person she was. She would be the first person to drop my name every chance she got. Destroying her would only increasingly destroy my career.

So Courtney Klein left my salon looking absolutely amazing. It's called PR people. And having a girl like Courtney walk leave looking like that was the small business equivalent of a Superbowl commercial. She would tell her friends and I would become increasingly popular.

With any hope, and a couple more Courtneys, it wouldn't even matter if Nick took me to the cleaners and took my salon, I'd have enough loyal clientele that I'd be able to work out of my parent's basement and still make a good chunk of change. Or I could possibly be one of those fabulous stylists that cuts for you out of the comfort of your own home. Then I wouldn't even have to worry about a venue.

I shoved all of my most important belongings into my purse—and a couple of chocolates out of the jar Tanya keeps at reception, when Char wasn't looking—getting ready to call it quits for the day.

Char led the way, wrapping his black cashmere scarf around his neck and fluffing his hair for the public world. Tanya followed behind him with her clicky stilettos and an exhausted expression, prepared to run interference and distract CK as I escaped. I followed on the end, like the lost ugly little duckling. This had become our nightly routine ever since the trolley incident. Char knew that I wouldn't be able to out-run CK again, especially with his cheetah-like stride.

Char peeked his head through a crack in the door while Tanya held her pepper spray firmly in-hand, just as a precaution. I twirled my hair around my finger, anxious for this whole ordeal to end as quickly as possible so that I could go home and perhaps coerce Kayce into giving me a massage.

Char's head popped back into the salon as if it had magically been reattached. "All clear," he declared officially, seeming quite proud. If only the military was more accepting of gays… Char would have fit in perfectly. He's quite the slave-driver.

Tanya let out a breath of relief, shoved her mace back into her prized Gucci handbag and took off clacking down the street. Char insisted on walking me home, just in case CK had reached full-stocker potential and decided to wait for me outside my doorstep. Again.

He begrudgingly complimented my maturity in dealing with the unexpected Courtney situation, as well as complimented the gorgeous pixie-haircut I gave her that framed her face and let her striking cheek-bones really pop. Apparently, if I kept this up, I might accidentally become a good person. Ick.

The rest of the way, we discussed, in detail, weather or not I had the facial structure to pull off bangs. They're very hip right now and look good on models, but are my shoulders too broad for the look? In the end we decided that Char would cut me a nice looking swoop tomorrow afternoon and if CK remained unseen, perhaps we could so shopping for a bit and I could buy some clothes that fit rather than the black pants I'm wearing, which cut off circulation to my legs and have caused my toes to turn white and go numb.

And through this entire exchange, CK Wilson failed to appear. It was as if it was my birthday and Christmas all rolled into one. Charlie was under the express belief that the Toad, or "Drew," was the one to arrange such a straw of good fortune, but I continue to claim that God had seen me suffer enough for the time being.

We made it to Kayce's apartment, safe and sound. I breathed a sigh of relief as Char left, and decided to turn in early—due to my exhaustion over a lack of sleep from those damn dreams.

I woke up early the next morning, haunted by a sweating, intense water dream featuring the one and only he-who-must-not-be-named. And I don't mean Lord Voldemort.

And it only got worse from there. Lo and behold, as I entered the TV area of my apartment, there was none other than the devil himself.

CK looked up at me from where he sat, on my favorite sister's couch, crunching on my last box of sugary cereal and my final refuge from health food, and watching TV.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I shouted, prepared to lunge if I saw even the slightest of movement toward the wad of disgusting papers that were sitting about two feet out of his grasp of the side table.

"Oh hello," he replied, blinking innocently. "Did you sleep well?"

* * *

_Wow a new chapter. And in hardly a week. You're welcome._

_The next two chapters are my favorite. I'm very excited to get to write them. You should be excited to get to read them. Celebrate and wait in eager anticipation, while I carefully bide my time for the mere purpose of torturing you. _

_Julia has truned me into quite the sadist._


	9. Magic Carpet Ride

_**Love Is a Four Letter Word**_

_Magic Carpet Ride_

I sputtered and turned puce. "What are you doing here?" I repeated, trying desperately to control my rage.

CK looked at me serenely as he shoved a large spoonful of my cereal into his mouth. It took eons for him to chew it all. I stood, trying my hardest to glower at him and shaking with repressed rage. At this rate I'd pop a blood vessel. He just continued to crunch away.

He hardly seemed to perceive my anger. It just rolled right over him. Completely useless anger.

Needless to say this only served to increase my rage.

CK finally finished chewing my precious Froot Loops and blinked three times. "Do you always moan in your sleep?"

Forget puce. I suddenly turned maroon, or possibly a violent violet. "I. Was. Not. Moaning," I sputtered, anger rolling off _me_ in waves. And I mean big waves. Like tidal waves. Or, you know, like a tsunami.

CK remained oblivious to my fury. Or possibly he just chose to continue to ignore it.

"Fine then," he agreed casually. "You were groaning."

In awe, I stared at him. Awe and anger. That's all I was capable of. "Why are you here?" I asked again, for lack of any better question, and because he still hadn't answered it. In the back of my mind I silently panicked. I hadn't possibly said anything else while I was dreaming? You know, something that could be misconstrued? Oh god, please don't let me have said his name!

"Your sister wanted me to check on you," he replied, suddenly avoiding eye contact and watching cartoons on the TV with a bemused—was that a blush?—expression.

"Don't take my sister too seriously. Our parents dropped her on her head when she was a child," I replied, glaring at his profile. From this angle his nose is ever so slightly askew. "What's wrong with your nose?" I asked unthinkingly.

CK looked away from the TV with his eyebrows practically united into a super-caterpillar of confusion. "What?" he asked, thoroughly baffled by my thought process.

I too was fairly confused. Of all the question I'd like to ask this man—Is Satan a good father? For example—that was the best I could do? Instead I decided to go with: "Why would my sister send you to pester me, and if at all possible, ruin my life?"

"I'm not here to ruin your life," he replied casually.

"You're not?"

"Nope." He shoveled another spoonful of soggy cereal into his mouth.

"Then why are you here?"

CK looked up at me and swallowed his cereal. "I already told you. Your sister sent me."

I glared and crossed my arms, sending out every signal that I could possibly think of to tell him that I was thoroughly put-out. "My sister has never been one to throw me to the sharks. What was her reason?"

CK's eyes flickered across the apartment. Perhaps he was taking in the unique shade of blue that Kayce had painted the walls? Or perhaps he was doing something completely different. "She wanted me to make sure you weren't worried about her."

I concentrated on his averted gaze for a second. "You're lying," I pointed out slowly.

"Perhaps."

Not exactly the answer I was expecting… I was thinking he'd just lie again.

My eyes flicked to the wad of papers sitting contently there on the coffee table. He was here to end it wasn't he? And here I was stupidly conversing with the enemy.

He watched my gaze as I stared at the evil papers, wishing I had heat vision and could cause their spontaneous combustion. "That's not why I'm here either," he flipped casually.

I rolled my eyes, my exasperation increasing rapidly into frustration. "Then why are you here?" I bit in irritation.

"Get dressed," he ordered, draining the milk from the bottom of a bowl and standing quickly. "We have places to go."

* * *

We were walking down the street in complete silence. I didn't understand. If CK Wilson had come here to serve me divorce papers, he would have done it already. I'd even told him to just get it over with already, but he'd just shrugged and continued to walk down the street. Maybe he wasn't lying when he'd said that Kayce had sent him, although that hardly made sense either. What possible reason would Kayce have had to send me the man that I hate more than life itself? 

"So what did you want to do today?" he asked me idly. I was completely baffled by his nonchalance. I'd only ever managed to have one civil conversation with this man, and that had ended with me slamming my valuables against a brick wall.

"You were the one that dragged me out of my apartment. You tell me."

He looked at me. "What do you normally do on a Saturday?"

"Sleep until noon, wallow in self-pity, contemplate suicide, and dye my hair neon colors," I listed sarcastically.

CK studied me curiously. "Perhaps you should consider therapy."

"Yes," I agreed simply. "Retail therapy is a great suggestion."

Before I knew it I was staring in the mirror at the closest Banana Republic and trying to figure out why my boobs were suddenly looking much bigger than they had the last time I'd looked. Then I remembered that I'd put on weight recently. Sure those khakis that I'd just tried on hadn't made it past my thighs, but this baby doll dress was made for me and my new larger friends.

I checked myself out again in the mirror, turning to the side to check out my profile and standing on my Tipp toes to see what it'd look like in heels.

"Are you almost done?" CK Wilson drawled morosely. I'd never seen a man so bored since the day I'd coerced Nick into attending the annual hairstylist convention three years ago.

I locked eyes with him in the mirror and pierced my lips. "You can leave at any time," I pointed out. "But yes I am almost done, but then we're going to J. Crew and after that who knows where."

CK let out a deep anxious breath and rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

"Hurry up," he groaned.

"Don't boss me around you stupid ass."

The woman standing outside her daughter's dressing room smiled at the dressing room attendant and whispered loudly, "Oh! Young love."

CK and I both simultaneously diverted our glares to her. Insufferable, stupid woman!

"Believe it or not, I did have an objective for this outing," CK added.

I took my time, checking myself out again just to make him angry. "Then you should have spoken up sooner instead of coercing my request."

"I didn't coerce. I suggested."

"You suggested with emphasis and for lack of a better option, I made a decision so that we didn't spend the rest of the day standing on the street in awkward silence."

"Silence would be a blessing," he muttered under his breath.

"If you shut up, I'll follow your lead."

"Would you follow if I led you out of this place?"

Finally, I had reached my maximum threshold. I grabbed my ballet flat and chucked it at him. He ducked and it merely hit the wall about three feet above him.

"Nice aim," he commented dryly, while the older lady scuttled out of there looking as if she feared for her life.

* * *

Eventually, about an hour later, CK too reached _his_ maximum threshold and just kind of walked out of the third store we'd entered. Once again, however, he hesitated in getting down to his primary objective, so I made another suggestion of my own. 

We had been waiting in line at the tattoo parlor for about six minutes before CK started to twitch. "You're not really going to get a tattoo, are you?" he asked as I pointed out a particularly vibrant skull and crossbones.

I looked up at him and smiled. "You're right, I think I should go with something a bit more modest."

He seemed relieved.

I smiled and flipped the page in the book of suggestions. "How do you feel about me getting your name tattooed on my ass?"

He rubbed his eyebrows, his nerves growing thin. "You wouldn't be the first."

"Really?" I raised an eyebrow. "I knew Andrew was hiding something this whole time."

Oh god, not the lethal smile again. It makes me feel kind of dizzy. I quickly said something to make sure it was wiped off his face. "Don't hurt yourself there," I suggested.

Ah, there's the brooding confusion I know and love!

"What do you mean?" he asked me wearily, obviously not so sure he wanted to know.

"Have you ever been covered in paint?" I asked.

CK shook his head hesitantly, once again not following my train of thought.

"Well when you cover yourself in paint it dries and then it hardens. Every time you move when you're covered in hardened paint it cracks."

"What's that got to do with me?" he asked slowly.

"Not everything has to do with you." I smiled falsely sweetly then clarified. "You obviously don't smile all that much. The muscles have probably tightened and dried up. Hence, 'don't hurt yourself.'"

"I smile just fine."

"Albeit rarely," I returned, closing the notebook and shoving it away. "I've made my decision." I stood up and walked out of the place.

"What are you doing?" he asked me, racing to catch up with me as I walked briskly down the street.

"Going to lunch."

"What about the tattoo?"

I shrugged. "I'm afraid of needles."

"That's just like you."

"You don't know me!" I shouted, whirling on him in sudden anger. Although I seemed to have anger coursing through my veins lately and a sudden burst of it was no longer such a rarity, that little outburst had even taken me by surprise.

"I've known a lot of bitter ex-wives. You think you're the first?" he said with a superior expression and one of those dratted dark eyebrows quirked in minor humor. "Plenty of women have wondered across my path. Plenty of women have yelled at me, yelled at their exes, and then watched them leave. You're just another woman, with another stupid husband, more willing to fight _against_ him than you are to fight _for_ him."

"Of course I'd rather fight him," I replied, still angry, but adding a sense of sarcasm to the mix. "The sick bastard was cheating on me!"

CK shook his head. "The relationship was dead long before he started cheating on you."

"Wh-what?"

"A woman doesn't give up on her husband, cheater or not, if she really loves him. A man doesn't cheat if things are great at home. So which was it? Did he want out? Did you want out? Did you both?"

I didn't reply. I thought stunned silence spoke volumes about my reaction.

"Or perhaps it's option D? Perhaps you'd both decided to live resigned to the monotony that had become your marriage?"

"Are you saying that I only married Nick because I was scared of being alone?" I clarified, too startled to yell, too angry not to.

"I'm saying that there's no reason for you to end up with an ass hole like Nick Grant without some sort of insecurity on your part. The guy's a jerk. I've seen your financials. You basically paid his way through Grad school and the guy repays you by running off to Florida with your receptionist? Sounds like the most undeserving ass hole I've ever met."

Wow. That was one of the worst back-handed compliments I've ever heard.

"You want to know why my nose is crooked?" he continued. "I played hockey in college and I was too proud to wear a mask. I let my fault break my nose. You let yours break your heart."

I looked away. His blue eyes were making the hairs on my arms stand up in intensity. How did he do that? How did he make me feel like a weak little girl all over again? "Don't psychoanalyze me. I've had enough of that for this lifetime!"

He made a smug "my point exactly" kind of look.

I finally looked back at him. "I don't care about Nick. I just want this whole thing to end. I just want Nick to disappear," I replied, defeated.

CK took a deep breath and this time it was his turn to avert his eyes.

We were just standing there arguing in the middle of the sidewalk and people that passed us shot us funny looks, slightly confused by our dispute, just like the old lady at the store had been.

CK took a deep breath and reverted to his common tick: rubbed his eyebrows in tense frustration. "Fine. You want it to end," he said as he let out a deep breath and drew those damn documents out of his jacket again. "Just take them and it's over."

Oh no. Not what I had meant. _So_ not what I had meant!

He held them out as if offering me a peace offering. "It's over, Jules. Accept it."

No. I couldn't accept it. Sure, maybe I was insistent about my loathing for Nick, but maybe I was also a little bit scared. What would happen if Nick and I ceased to battle? What would I do then? Who would I think about then?

Sure I wanted things to end. But not like this. Not under _his _terms.

Suddenly Mindy Hastings's advice flashed through my mind. _"You could use your feminine wiles to distract him."_

As per usual, I didn't stop to think. I just kind of dove right into a whole new mess. I stepped right up to CK, knocking the divorce papers out of his hand as I did so, and used the only feminine wile I could think of: I kissed him passionately on the lips.

Unfortunately, I hadn't considered what I'd do once my lips were on his and was forced to allow my natural instincts to take over. Before I knew it I was lost. Why, god why, did CK Wilson have to be such a good kisser? My toes were curled up inside my little black flats, my fingers wrapped tightly around the corners of his cotton jacket, my lips moving across his with sublime force, and my tongue slowly slipping into his surprisingly open mouth.

What was I doing? Was this another one of those things I was going to immediately regret?

_Oh_…

I suddenly lost all ability to think as his arms wrapped around my body and instinctively pulled me closer. And just when, for the first time in the past three and a half months, I felt my anger slowly lift off my body, his phone rang.

We both leapt back simultaneously. My skin felt as if it had just been burned. It was possible my body had spontaneously burst into flame. In fact, it was possible I was still on fire. My skin sure felt awfully hot.

"Hello?" he asked into the phone, his voice dizzyingly thick, his eyes still locked on me as I looked anywhere but at him.

Suddenly, the phone erupted in noise. Even I, who was standing at least a yard and a half away from CK at this point, on a busy street, could hear the noise that issued from his phone.

"Wait? What do you mean?" CK asked the mysterious, angry voice. "He found you!?" CK finally shouted after the voice had finished a particularly audible monologue.

I suddenly found myself smiling in satisfaction. This was absolutely the best news I'd heard all day. Perhaps all year. Possibly even all decade.

"Okay, okay," CK toned, his eyes back on their original target: burning into me, right through my flushed skin. "I know."

The conversation was winding down. I took this as the perfect opportunity to toss in my two-cents. "Oh please tell my _dear_ husband that I miss him _ever so much!"_

CK pierced his lips. "Yeah, I'll take care of it. Bye," he replied into the phone, ignoring me completely.

I smiled. I couldn't help myself. This kind of news was so big that the inexplicable kiss was left forgotten in the middle of the street.

CK squatted down slowly and carefully picked up the dirtied and discarded crumple of divorce papers. "Well," he said, standing slowly—was that a smile?—, "it looks as though we won't be needing these anymore."

* * *

_Guess who's back! It was a little longer to make up for the delay. My computer had crashed and I literally cried. I had this entire chapter written as well as the next and a couple of later scenes. I had spent forever on the next chapter and now it's lost. I'd loved it too. It was probably my favorite._

_Believe it or not, that was not the Hunsford proposal. No there is much more to come…_

_Now, I need some serious lovin' in order to rewrite the next chapter. Ugh. It's so painful to think about all my lost work. _

_Alright. Enough with the sob story._


	10. Can You Feel the Love Tonight

_**Love is a Four Letter Word**_

_Can You Feel the Love Tonight?_

As I walked into my apartment I was literally whistling in happiness.

I think this was the happiest I'd ever been. Sure, graduation had been nice, the day I first opened my own salon was memorable, my wedding day had seemed rather joyous at the time, but this is pure happiness. It's like birds were following me, chirping in my wake. Like someone had cued the music and a scene from West Side Story was playing out as I passed by, one of the happy scenes, you know; not one of those horrible death scenes at the end. Something more reminiscent of "I Feel Pretty."

I was skipping up the stairs to Kayce and mine's apartment. Skipping is, apparently, rather difficult when going up stairs. I stubbed my toe, tripped and slid back down three steps on my knees. A man that just happened to be walking down the street asked me if I was okay and handed me a napkin to help stem the bleeding. I just smiled and told him that nothing could rain on my parade. He looked at me as if I were rather deranged and walked away rather quickly down the street.

"Kayce!" I called cheerily as soon as I entered the apartment, limping toward the kitchen, hunched over to keep pressure on my bloody knee.

I found the closest chair and crumpled into it, tossing my bloody napkin onto the table and grabbing a couple more from the hand-crafted napkin holder that I'd made for Kayce when I'd gone through my "artsy phase" a couple of years back—in reality it was merely a painted rock. This hurt like freaking crazy, but I couldn't muster the strength to be pissed off about it.

I was just _too happy! _

"Kayce I have the best news!" I said brightly as I heard her stomp down the hall.

As soon as Kayce entered the apartment her face went as pale as ice and she fell back dizzily against the wall, closing her eyes against the sight. I mean, yes there was quite a bit of blood running down my lag and trickling toward my favorite pair of black flats, but must she be so dramatic? Just because she passes-out every time she sees blood is no reason to… pass out.

Yet, just when I felt as though Kayce was going to be absolutely no help and was about to tell her to crawl pathetically out of the kitchen, Andrew came in and whistled at the sight. "Oh, that's sick," he said with a weird kind of enjoyment as he looked at the blood. "How the hell did you do that?"

I shrugged. "It's inconsequential," I said grabbing my second helping of napkins. God! Why the hell won't my knee stop bleeding? "I have good news!"

Andrew gave a single chortle of bemused laughter and walked over to the sick, while Kayce groaned and fell into the closest chair, still averting her eyes from my bloody mess. "Slow down there, babe," he said patting Kayce reassuringly and running a clean washcloth under the sink. He came over and squatted beside me, as I sat bloody and grinning, then carefully began to wipe the blood gently from my wound. "This is a nice one," he pointed out seeming thoroughly impressed by my pain.

Kayce groaned. "Is it all gone yet?" she asked weakly. Out of the two of us, I felt as though she was suffering more.

Andrew chuckled good-naturedly again. "It'll just be a second, babe. Why don't you go see if you can find some hydrogen peroxide and a couple of Band-Aids?"

Kayce nodded slowly and quickly left the room.

"She's a bit of a cry baby, isn't she?" he asked, not mocking her, but just slightly amused by it.

I rolled my eyes. "Just be glad it was me who managed to scrape herself up and not her," I said, wincing and pulling away as he hit the center of my wound.

"What the hell did you do?" he asked gently, holding my knee still as I tried to pull away from his sponge again.

I shrugged and replied with false nonchalance. "I was attacked by rabid squirrels in the park."

Andrew shook his head. "Fucking squirrels," he muttered darkly and hiding his laughter.

Just then Kayce wondered back into the kitchen, her face obscured by her left hand, as she groped her way into the kitchen with her right and held a box of Band-Aids and a ubiquitous bottle under her arm. "Is it gone?" she asked, her voice muffled by her hand.

Andrew chuckled again. "No, don't look yet babe," he said helping her find her way into a chair and gently taking the supplies from her so she didn't have to remove her hand from her face.

Andrew turned the bottle upside down and dampened the wash-cloth. "This might sting," he warned before he dabbed carefully against my knee. I winced again and clenched my teeth together, trying to think of my happiness and not the stinging sensation. He finished quickly and gently placed a four large Band-Aids over my scrape, practically covering my entire left kneecap.

"Now," he said as he placed the final Band-Aid over my knee and patted it gently, "you said you had good news?" He stood up from where he'd been squatting and pulled Kayce's hand from her eyes then kissed her softly on her temple to reassure her that she was okay.

My entire face lit up and I clapped my hands excitedly. "Oh yeah!" I squeaked in glee. I don't think that I'd ever felt "glee" before this point. In fact, prior to this moment I used to spit in the face of glee. "Nick! Got! Served!"

Kayce's entire being reacted with the same excitement that seemed to match my own happiness. Andrew leapt to his feet and smiled as well. "Let's celebrate," he declared. "Do you have any champagne?"

I must admit I was slightly shocked. "Wait, shouldn't you be on his side?" I asked dumbly. "He is your client, isn't he?"

Andrew shook his head. "Hell no. He's CK's client. And CK's problem." He smiled at me and rooted around in our fridge. Andrew had a rather nice smile, like a lopsided sloppy grin, but for some reason it wasn't nearly as adorable as his friend's. He stood up, holding out an old bottle of champagne that Kayce and I had bought to get drunk over one night, but had ended up going out to some hip club to meet Char instead. He grabbed our final two champagne flutes from the cabinet—I briefly wondered how he knew so quickly where they were—that hadn't been chipped or shattered and an old wine glass for himself, then poured us each a glass and handed them out. "Plus, Jules, I think everyone is on your side in this."

I found that I too was smiling quite lopsidedly. That was a nice thing for Andrew to say. I thought of CK Wilson and his grim forbearance about having to draw up a whole new set of divorce papers to fill the stipulations that this new development had created. He'd practically sprinted off down the street after ripping up the old papers and hadn't even allowed me a moment of celebration or gloating. The thought of CK Wilson being excited by my divorce settlement was almost laughable. But I grinned anyway. It was nice of Andrew to lie.

"This is the best news ever!" Kayce announced, sipping her champagne greedily. "You really did have a good day!"

I was practically shaking in excitement. Their support in this whole ordeal made it all the more gratifying to share my good news with them. Sure Kayce had been spending quite a bit of time with Andrew, and sure Andrew had stolen away my favorite sister in my time of need, but what did that matter now? Maybe this story really does have a happy ending!

But suddenly, a dark cloud emerged and a striking thought bludgeoned me over the head. CK Wilson! Holy, freaking shit! Today I kissed CK Wilson!

"What should we do tonight?" Kayce tittered, excitedly rifling through her mental index for a fun nighttime activity. "Something really great, I think."

"Wait," I interrupted, frowning slightly. I remembered how precariously close we'd come to this story ending in the completely opposite way. I was about five seconds, and one kiss, away from being served first. It could have been bad…very bad. "Before we start, why did you send CK Wilson to come bother me today?" I asked bluntly. Had it not been for my quick thinking with that, begrudgingly blissful, kiss, Kayce could have ruined the whole thing by inviting CK into our home.

"What? I didn't send anyone to bother you," Kayce replied, now frowning as well.

"Yes, you did."

"No, I didn't."

"Did so."

"Did not."

"Yes?"

"No!"

This was escalating quickly. If Andrew hadn't stepped in, we could have ended up spending our celebratory evening bickering or locked in separate rooms.

"Ladies!" he boomed.

We both simultaneously stopped and looked at him.

"Now Jules," he said in his eerily calming voice, "why don't you explain what happened."

"Well, I woke up this morning and there was CK sitting on our sofa claiming that you'd sent him to come talk to me," I clarified.

"But I didn't!" Kayce protested.

"Ok, we believe you," Andrew soothed. I personally didn't agree with him. I didn't believe her. If Kayce hadn't sent CK Wilson to come bother me, then who had?

"This doesn't make any sense," I thought out loud.

Both Kayce and Andrew shrugged, unable to offer any kind of explanation to justify the mysterious workings of Mr. CK Wilson.

* * *

I sat in the chair in the meeting room of Wilson, Connors and Klein. Wow. How had I never noticed before that these are swivel chairs? How fun! Who would have ever thought that stodgy old lawyers would have anything in their building as excited as swivel chairs? Not I. 

Mr. CK Wilson rolled his eyes as I spun once and emitted a little "Yippee!" of delight. The Toad covered his mouth with his Armani blazer and hid his smile. Wait a second. Is the world standing on its head? Never in my life have I seen the Toad smile. In fact, this may have been the first time I'd seen him do anything but drool or stare blankly into the distance at one of these meetings.

"As I was saying," CK Wilson interrupted my rare moment of childish joy with his standard exasperated tone, "I've drafted a new settlement of your suit, Mrs. Grant, and I'd like for you to take a look at this… So we can"—he coughed awkwardly—"get this finished. Quickly." That was odd. I'd never before seen CK Wilson speak quite so… nervously. Normally he was quite determined in his condescending principles.

Perhaps it was that CK Wilson was quite excited to get rid of me as a client.

Ok, so it's possible I'm looking over a rather minute detail. I kissed CK Wilson. BUT, and let the record show that this is a huge but, I wasn't the first to ignore it. I walked in here today fully prepared to follow CK Wilson's social cues. If he'd brought it up, I would have responded. Sure, I wouldn't have jumped him right here in his meeting room in the middle of our rendezvous like I'd done in my dream last night, but I mean perhaps he could have issued some sort of acknowledgement or moment of recognition.

CK's eyes flickered to me as I gave one final, bonus spin on my chair, and his lips were sucked tightly into his mouth to prevent any form of expression. That's weird. CK had never before bothered to suppress his disdain and scorn at my antics.

"Mrs. Grant," he began as I finally pulled my chair back up to the table to face his customary face of disapproval. Wait a second. That's not a scowl. Why the hell are CK's dimples peeking out at me? "I think we should review some of these logistics. Make sure everything is fair but still… satisfactory."

Was it just me or did it seem as though CK was actually itching to say something else entirely? I looked into his eyes. Holy shit, when they sparkle they look kind of like pale sapphires. That's absolutely amazing.

Oh god! Did I just have an interior monologue waxing lyrical about CK Wilson's eyes? What is going on with me? First a run of good luck, then with all the happiness, and the other night I hit the town with Char, Kayce and Andrew and actually managed to have some – cover your ears—fun. In fact I hadn't had that much fun since the day I'd celebrated dropping out of USF.

So what? A girl can't check out CK's rather tight ass and sparkly blue eyes? I can't help myself. I'm only human, and soon to be single. Not to mention the fact that CK Wilson is one fine specimen of man.

I'm not attracted to him. _I'm not. _I swear.

"Mrs. Grant," CK snapped trying to draw my attention back to the matter at hand. "Are you even listening to me?" he asked almost quite bitterly.

I shrugged. "Erm. Yes?"

CK took a deep breath as the Toad's eyebrows creased in confusion at the sudden turn Mr. Wilson's tone had taken. "Listen, Mrs. Grant," he bit. "I understand that you have to finally face up to the choice in front of you and actually decide if you want to divorce your _husband, _but I think it's time you just get over it!_"_ he spat, his voice becoming especially vehement on the word husband.

My jaw dropped. Make a decision? Get over it? I don't understand. Was he talking about the kiss or my divorce?

"It's obvious to everyone in this room that you are still quite decidedly in love with your _dear _husband," he replied, looking elsewhere, "so I think it's time you evaluate if a divorce is truly what you want instead of wasting more of my time."

"I am _not _still in love with Nick," I growled.

"I think it's plain to see that you are. I've had plenty of clients like you. They make every step of this whole process as miserable as possible in order to postpone the realization that they're not over their significant other. That they're never _going _to get over them."

Good feeling's gone.

Way, way gone.

"How dare you!" I spat. "Just this weekend you accused me in taking part in a dead relationship. Now I'm still in love with him? Which is it?"

These weren't the kind of questions a person should actually answer if they know what's best for them. These were the kind of questions that were supposed to hang heavily in the air while CK grasped his tiny little brain around the fact that I was right.

"You're only in love with him when it comes time to letting go," he said, taking the moronic route and venturing a reply. If only he'd just accepted defeat… "You hate him, and yet you do anything to avoid actually divorcing him. And if you ask me your desperation and childish games are rather pathetic."

And that was the day I committed my first murder.

I leapt to my feet, picturing myself stabbing him repeatedly with his own fancy pen, my hands clenched tightly at my side, my lips curled up in disgust. "Perhaps that's why nobody asked!" I snarled, still pronouncing my syllables quite clearly. If words could kill, my razor sharp tone really would have made me a murderer.

"I don't care what you think about me!" I shouted, throwing a miniature tantrum right there in that stodgy meeting room, swivel chairs be damned. "As far as I'm concerned, you aren't even allowed an opinion."

I grabbed my purse and threw it angrily over my shoulder. I stomped my way around those blasted chairs, toward the door to my freedom. I stopped as I reached the threshold, hoping to solidify my dramatic exit. "And if I ever have to see you again I'll sue you for breach of conduct, so you had better be telling my lousy _ex-husband_ that he should get himself a new lawyer."

And with that I was gone.

Suddenly the pain in my tarnished knee seemed to increase ten-fold, my head began to pound, and my eyes burned. All those aches and pains of misery came seeping quickly back into my body, covering me in hopeless dread.

CK was wrong! He was _so_ wrong! I am _not_ still in love with Nick. I'm not even sure I _ever_ loved Nick!

But the burning sensation in my chest told me otherwise. I did love him. I did miss him. I really wasn't ready to let go of him. I wasn't ready to admit that it was over. I wasn't ready for a divorce. I wasn't ready to start seeing other people, not to mention sleeping with them.

I did still love Nick.

But it still sounded so much worse when CK Wilson said it. Does loving the man that I'd promised to spend my whole life with, even after he'd hurt me so badly, really make me pathetic? How was I supposed to move on when he still consumed 80 percent of my thoughts? Especially when the other dratted 20 percent of my thoughts were consumed by his divorce lawyer! (In a strict "I hate you with all my being" kind of way.)

What was this? What was going on? Why was there a foreign liquid seeping out of the corner of my eye? Oh god! I wasn't crying was I? Julia Grant does not cry!

I stormed down the hallway like a tornado gone awry. Other people passing by backed out of my way so they wouldn't be sucked into my whirling vortex of misery. I stomped up to the elevator and angrily jabbed the down button. It hurt. I think I jammed my finger.

Oh, but I blatantly refused to feel any pain. I was too angry to be upset over my finger or over my broken heart, just as I'd been too happy to feel the true pain of my knee. Pain sucked. Pain would bring you down. Pain was the enemy.

The doors to the elevator opened suddenly and I glared at any passengers that might be lingering in _my _elevator. I suddenly noticed I was glaring at an empty elevator.

I stomped inside and repeatedly jabbed the button to close the doors before any unwanted passengers could sneak in. It was closing. One more second and I'd be all alone.

As if he'd materialized out of thin air the one and only Toad appeared magically by my side in the elevator and the doors swung shut before I could push him forcefully back out. He stood beside me, not saying a single word.

Well if he wasn't going to talk to me, I wasn't going to talk to him. I wasn't going to talk to any of them. It might as well have been just me in that elevator. It might as well have been just me on the entire planet. I didn't care. I hated everyone in the world anyway!

My entire body was prickling. It hurt everywhere. It hurt to think. It hurt to move. It hurt to remember that fateful, now more than three months ago, in which I'd come home to find Nick in the throes of love with another woman. It even hurt to be angry.

And I couldn't stop it anymore. The Hoover Dam burst. The dark rain clouds lingering in the sky finally began to pour. The sprinkler system was set in motion. And just like that I began to cry for the first time in the last five years. The first time since my wedding day.

And, without a word, Mr. Drew Hudgins reached his arm around me and hugged me to his chest. He didn't try to soothe me, or tell me not to cry. He just held me in his arms as I covered his Armani suit in snot and tears and years worth of misery.

"Don't worry," he said softly as I gasped for air to help fill my forgotten lungs. "Maybe it'll all be okay."

* * *

_It's moments like these that I wish this story was being told through CK's point of view. There are some good reasons for why CK does the things he does. There's a good reason why he visited Julia without, seemingly, any reason to. There was a good reason why he didn't servedher the divorce papers back in chapter 7. There was a good reason why CK practically instigated this little fight. _

_But this story, no matter how many times you guys ask, is not told through CK's point of view. It can't be. There are certain details that will be revealed in time, but you just aren't ready for them. If I gave CK a point of view in the matter he'd tell you his secret, and CK just happens to be carrying a BIG secret._

_Believe it or not that was not the Hunsford proposal either. Nope. Not even close. How could it be? You guys haven't even met Colonel Fitzwilliam yet! (Or in this case his name will be Bo Connors.) _

_Which brings me to another point. The names. I've received some heat for changing the names of characters, but the truth is that I HAD to change them. I've already done the whole Will/Lizzy thing and to be honest, I'm a bit tired of seeing the same names in every single story (not that they aren't great stories!). Plus, the truth is, they aren't really Darcy and Elizabeth. I'm not Jane Austen, no matter how much I wish I was. These are my characters that just happen to be about as close to Darcy and Elizabeth as I can possibly get. I'm sorry if you don't like the names, but they're sticking._

_And now for the totally awesome news! Last chapter, I not only broke 100 reviews, I also set my personal record for the most reviews in a chapter. 24! I can't even tell you how good that felt! Which, as you may have guessed, was a large part of the reason that I'm updating again after a mere five days. _

_This is my way of saying thanks!_


	11. Once Upon a Dream

_**Love is a Four Letter Word**_

_Once Upon a Dream_

I rolled over in my bed and wiped my bleary eyes. I was stuck in that limbo between sleeping and awake and hardly able to comprehend my name, but I knew that I was safe, at home, in my bed.

Reluctantly, I yanked my eyes open and smiled. I snuggled a little closer to my human pillow and traced light circles on his chest. He hates when I watch him sleep.

As if he could feel my gaze in his sleep, his lips twitched and I wanted to kiss him. Instead I poked him lightly on his nose.

"Nick," I whispered, still poking him.

He refused to open his eyes but his lips twitched again and the lines across his forehead creased slightly, just like they did whenever he was trying to repress his laughter.

That little liar was so awake. "Nick," I hissed again still poking him. "Open your eyes you little faker."

His lips twitched again.

"I'm not an idiot you know," I said, starting to get frustrated with his childish antics. I just wanted to talk to him. I just wanted to kiss him. He didn't have to go around pretending to be asleep.

I poked him again, but before I could remove my finger, he'd clapped his big manly hand around my tiny fingers and finally let that smile shine through. His eyes flew open and before I could move, he'd used his other arm to wrap around my body and pull me closer to him. He kissed me lightly, smiling in my embrace and ignoring my disgusting morning breath.

"Good morning sweetheart," he said as he pulled away, grinning triumphantly.

I scowled. "You were pretending to be asleep," I said, pouting.

Nick grinned. "Oh. Was I?"

"Cut the innocence."

Nick laughed. "I can't help it. I love it when you get angry. Your eyes light up and you stick your bottom lip out when you pout. It's absolutely adorable."

Ugh. I hate Nick. I hate Nick for the mere reason that it's impossible to hate Nick.

I scowled again. Nick seemed to take this as enough reason to use the arm, that he still had wrapped around me, to roll me over and trap me between his body and the bed.

"Now what did I just tell you. Every time you scowl I want to take you back to our bed and ravage you."

I giggled. Nick saying the word "ravage" is funny. He isn't much of the ravaging type. I looked around. "Well would you look at that? We're already in our bed."

Nick laughed again and kissed me. Then he let me go, unwrapping me and rolling off the bed to go brush his teeth. I was slightly relieved. As much as I love a good morning romp, Nick really does have bad morning breath. And his cheeks are all stubbly in the morning and it hurts me when he rubs against my skin.

I lay on the bed for a minute or so: my left hand pressed against the soft skin on my stomach, my right on my heart, counting the beats. "Honey," I shouted toward the bathroom, trying to be heard over the sound of the running faucet, "do you think it worked?"

Nick peeked his head around the door: his face covered halfway in shaving cream, a toothbrush hanging out of the corner of his mouth clamped in place by his teeth. He muttered something that I couldn't hear through his mouth full of foamy toothpaste.

I stood up and walked toward the bathroom. As Nick leaned toward the sink to spit out his toothpaste, I leaned against the doorjamb and watched him as his rinsed out his mouth. He peered up at me as soon as he was done and smiled, then leaned back over to kiss me despite having one cheek covered in shaving cream. He got the white foam all over my cheek and I quickly wiped it off.

Then he leaned down and quickly kissed my stomach. He proceeded to look back up at me and couldn't hold-back the smile that was radiating off of him. He went back to the sink and finished applying saving cream, then grabbed his razor and began to scrape it all back off.

I held up the oversized t-shirt I was wearing and examined my stomach. "Do I look pregnant?" I asked myself, or possibly Nick. Maybe I was even asking the mythological baby.

Nick chuckled. "Don't worry honey. It was only our first try." His eyes locked with mine in the mirror. They were so full of happiness and hope. We were going to have a baby. We were in love. I knew that look. It was the look of pure, unadulterated contentment. "We'll get pregnant soon."

* * *

"Are you _still_ in bed?" Kayce shouted into my darkened bedroom and I was hit over the head with something heavy and cloth. 

I groaned and rolled over, obscuring my face with my pillow. There was light seeping through the doorway and it was burning my eyes, even through my eyelids.

"It's two in the afternoon!" I heard her voice, muffled through my pillow.

And yet I couldn't bring myself to care. I wanted to go back to the blissful ignorance of my dream. I wanted to go back to that morning of happiness with Nick. Hating Nick had drained it all out of me. It had ripped away my happiness. It had ripped away my life because he was my life.

And it was all my fault.

Suddenly my jaw began to quiver. I thought I'd gotten all of this out of my system. I'd cried my eyes out for the past two days. I'm dehydrated. I'm exhausted. I'm numb. I didn't want to cry anymore. I just wanted my life back.

I suddenly felt a weight on the other side of my bed and then Kayce gently lifted the pillow off my head and looked down at me. Her eyes were disapproving, her cheeks were creased in worry, and her perfectly pink lips were swollen and piercing.

Swollen lips. There was a time I'd wondered home after missing for two days straight with swollen lips. Kayce was falling for Andrew. She too was going to leave.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong?" Kayce asked, eyeing me with those inquisitive eyes. The penetrating eyes of an artist. Why couldn't my sister have been an accountant?

I rolled away from her, making sure she couldn't look me in the eye. Making sure she couldn't see _my_ swollen eyes.

"Wake up sleepy!" she chimed, leaning over my body to look into my face. I reburied it into my pillow. Kayce let out a frustrated sigh and sat back up, but remained sitting on the other side of my bed. Suddenly I felt the bed shift and I felt her lay out on my bed beside me. "Fine. You know I can be just as stubborn as you are, right Jules?"

I continued to ignore her.

But she was a Simon girl. We're stubborn… and obnoxious if need-be. "Have I ever told you you're my hero," she sang in her disgustingly high-pitched voice. "You're everything I wish I could be!" Oh god and now she's getting louder. "And I can fly higher than an eagle, 'cause you are the wind beneath my—"

"_Would you shut the fuck up_!" I shouted, sitting up so suddenly that Kayce was taken aback and rolled off the beds from the shift in the lumpy twin bed mattress.

"Ah! She's alive," Kayce shouted, giggling as she sat up and rubbed her side where she'd made impact with the floor.

"Are you okay?" I asked dumbly, still concerned about the well-being of my obnoxious sister.

She hopped up quickly. "Yep! Fine," she cheered. Ugh. She's revoltingly positive. Kill me. "Your laundry cushioned my fall." As she stood she reached under my lamp and flicked it on, illuminating the mess that had become my bedroom.

I'd always been messy. I have a tendency to delay doing laundry until the last possible moment, but this was out of hand. There was dirty underwear tossed haphazardly across the floor. My favorite bra was lying across the keyboard of my laptop. My final fitting pair of jeans were still in the corner where Kayce had tossed them almost a three weeks before when she'd ripped them off me. Old shirts covered the floor, completely obliterating any view of the hardwood floor. Worst of all, it smelled oddly of old milk. Weird—I don't remember the last time I had milk in my room.

"Whoa. Let yourself go much?" Kayce commented wryly. She too had noticed the state of my room. However, she just happened to appear amused. It had been a joke that just happened to hit too close to home.

That was until she looked at me.

"Oh no," she gasped. If I thought my room looked bad, then I obviously couldn't see myself. Based on Kayce's reaction my state was at least triple the disorder of my room. "Julia," she gasped, covering her mouth in horror, "_what happened_?"

I looked down. There was no way that I looked worse than I felt. If Kayce had felt that, a gasp wouldn't have covered her horror upon discerning my internal misery.

I felt like shit. I felt lonely. Unloved. Hurt. Aching. Broken. I was being haunted by my memories of life with Nick and I'd had the past two days in an isolated state of loneliness to let my pain stew and fester.

I had taken wallowing to a whole new level.

Kayce didn't wait for me to say anything. She knew I wouldn't want to talk about it. She merely screwed up her face against the rotten smell, which I suddenly realized was radiating off of me, and pulled me into a hug. She was my sister. She would love me even if I was broken into a million pieces.

I couldn't cry any more. Now I really was as soppy as a baked sponge. I had dried up.

* * *

For the rest of the day, Kayce decided she wasn't going to let me out of her sight. I was like her Raggedy Anne doll and she was determined to get me out of bed. First she spent twenty minutes searching for some sort of semi-clean clothing she could force me to wear. 

Then she basically shoved me into a freezing cold shower. I just kind of stood there, letting the water roll softly down my numb body. Robotically I washed my hair and scrubbed my skin, scouring it with all my might and yanking my hands through the knots in my hair.

By the time I got out of the shower my skin was red and scratched and the drain was clogged with wads of my dirty hair. But at least I smelled better.

Kayce then decided that maybe we should get out of the house. She tortured me with a twenty minute monologue about how my roots were showing, knowing that hair was my most sensitive subject. She did my makeup, covering my greasy blemishes and talking to me as I sat mutely on the toilet seat and let her do whatever she wanted to my face.

And then she threw my clothes at me and told me to get dressed. I slowly forced myself to throw on the dress she'd given me, but when she came in, I still hadn't bothered to tie the ribbon the wraps around the waist and hadn't managed to force myself into a pair of tights to protect my legs from the autumn chill, nor the world from my hairy legs. She helped me get the tights over my feet and repressed her laughter as I tugged on them to pull them up, managing to rip through the crotch in the process. Then she wrapped me up in a jacket and led me like a child to the door, down the block, and all the way to the salon.

When Charlie saw us he looked as if he'd just had a heart attack.

Tanya, the receptionist, offered me some candy out of her jar, but I couldn't bring myself to take it. Charlie strapped me into his chair and jerked and pulled on my hair, painfully working with what little hair I hadn't managed to rip out during my shower. He colored my roots and handed me my cell phone that I'd left at the salon last time I'd been there. And he left me with my cell phone and a head full of enough foil to contact mars to consider my life and actions.

I switched my phone on, for lack of anything better to do, and to help me avoid the calculating expressions of Tanya and the other patrons of the salon.

I had ten messages.

I waited as the annoying robot-lady talked me through her menu, wishing I could just press fast-forward through her. In fact, there were a lot of times in my life that I'd like to press fast-forward on. Like now. But instead, I listened obediently, but hardly bothered to hear anything.

Message One: "Julia, it's Char. Drew just called me. How are you? Is everything okay? Call me."

Message two: "Julia, it's Tanya. You had a three-thirty appointment today. Did you forget? Listen, I'll try to reschedule, but you should probably get your ass down her as soon as possible. They're about to riot."

Message three: "Jules. Char again. You never called me. Tanya's about to freak out. I'll cover for you, but you better have a damn good explanation for disappearing off the face of the earth. I went to your apartment and it didn't look like anyone was home. Where the hell are you?"

Message four: "Julia! It's your mother darling! You had better not be screening my calls. You and your sister are still coming home next week right? I was wondering if you'd made amends with Nick yet. I'd like to know if I should set him a seat for Thanksgiving. Just think about calling him, okay?"

Message five: "Hel-_lo. _It's your nasty in-law! I was in town for the day and I was wondering if you'd like to get together for lunch or something. And while I'm at it, my son says you're still married. Oh honey, just divorce the fuck-wit already! Love ya! Toodles."

Message six: "Um, Julie it's Drew. Drew Hudgins. Your, um, lawyer. I was just calling to, um, check up on you. I've arranged a, um, meeting with your husband's new lawyer, but, um, Charlie says you're going home to Santa Barber next week. Should I, um, postpone the meeting? Um, call me back."

Message seven: "It's your mother again. You never called me. You know that neither of your sisters refuse to return their mother's calls!"

Message eight: "Hey Jules. It's Kayce. I don't think I'm going to make it home tonight. I'm staying at Andrew's. I'll be home tomorrow afternoon. Bye!"

It was right before message nine that I heard Kayce's voice. For a second I thought I was still listening to her message, but this was real and present. "I'm just so worried about her, Char. She was an absolute mess," I heard Kayce say. I numbly looked around the salon, trying to find the source of the sound and saw Charlie and Kayce conversing in the corner. I quickly looked away again, before they could notice me eavesdropping.

"She'll be okay. She's just wallowing," I heard Charlie's voice reply.

"How is that supposed to be reassuring? When has Julia ever wallowed?"

I studied myself in the mirror as Kayce spoke, and fully tuned out another raving message by my mother. It was best that I did. I don't think I could handle another lecture about how divorce was never going to give her grandchildren.

"I'm just so worried about her," Kayce said and she sounded as if she meant it. "Her room was a mess. She hadn't showered in days. She even looked as if she'd been crying."

"Drew said she was a mess after their meeting," Char added.

"My point exactly. I didn't even know she had a meeting. I can't help but feel responsible. I'm supposed to be taking care of her, I'd promised, and here I was off gallivanting with Andrew." Was it just me or was Kayce starting to sound slightly hysterical. Her fault? She's even crazier than me.

"Hey! It's not your fault," Charlie quickly reassured her as my mother's message finally got cut off and the robot-woman repeated over and over again if I'd like to delete the message. "Julia doesn't let people take care of her. How were you supposed to know?"

"But still, I should have—"

"No," Charlie pressed. "You're her sister, not her babysitter." There was a tense silence. "Listen, why don't you just take her home next week as planned, but make her stay until Christmas. I'll cover the salon. I think some time away from all the memories, all the troubles, will help some. That's the most you can do, Kayce."

Out of the corner of my eyes I saw Kayce nod, and look at me. I focused on the phone, pretending I hadn't heard a word. I finally pressed seven and commanded the operator to delete the message from mom.

Message ten: "Hello, Mrs. Grant. This is Bo Connors. I'm going to be the new lawyer representing your husband in the settlement. I was hoping we could have a meeting before the holidays to discuss mitigation. Your lawyer assures me that you'd like to get this settled as soon as possible. Please call me back at 332-9723 anytime before five. I look forward to meeting with you."

I quickly deleted the message as Charlie and Kayce came over to me. Charlie began to remove my dye from my roots and quickly gave me a deep rinse.

As soon as we were finished, Kayce replaced her worried expression for a beaming grin and pretended everything was all right. And as she led me home by the hand I gave her a squeeze of my hand to let her know just how much I appreciated the lie.

* * *

_I'm sorry this took a little extra time. I've been pulling double-shifts, but I procrastinated on my Lit paper just to write this for you._

_To be honest I have a lot of air to clear here. _

_First off: I'm not a lawyer and I don't know about California state law, but from what I understand being served is a summons to court. It's basically a civil suit, in this case about a divorce. Whoever serves first gets the upper hand in the suit and normally a better deal in the entire divorce. Also, it forces, if they can't work out a settlement through mitigation, the other party to attend a hearing in which a judge assigns the division of property. Normally, this means that whoever served is petitioning for the rights to certain property. So now, Nick and Julia are forced to fight it out and Julia has her pick of the litter. Plus, a judge would most likely assign most property to the abused spouse, Julia, or the breadwinner. Meaning it's possible, because Julia got to serve Nick, that she'll get back her money that Nick took and possibly even alimony._

_Did that answer questions?_

_Also. Someone said that Julia is kind of needy and whiney and self-centered. Now I'm not trying to sound like a bitch but DUH! She's gotten her freaking heart stomped on. She's hurting and all the anger is a defense mechanism. All I'm saying is that, although Julia can be a bit self-centered, can you blame her? The center of her world just ran off to Florida. I'd be upset too and I wouldn't blame anyone for being a bit needy after that._

_Ok and now I apologize. There's no CK Wilson in this chapter and probably won't be for a couple more. Sorry now, but Julia has to go home. Julia needs to get over Nick. She needs to heal a little bit first. Then CK can come back!_

_Ok. Sorry if there are an excessive amount of typos. My fingers are especially unruly today._


	12. There's No Place Like Home

_**Love Is a Four Letter Word**_

_There's no place like home_

I heard the thud of a fist against the front door all the way from my room. It was loud enough to wake me up from another torturous dream and I silently wiped my leaking eyes. I'd become so conditioned to crying, that the tears even seeped while I was asleep.

Minutes after the thudding, there was the sound of Kayce rushing down the stairs and the clicks of her opening the door. "Oh, I wasn't expecting to see you here," Kayce's voice followed, floating through the thin walls.

"I was in the neighborhood," came a deep, unrecognizable voice.

"You were in Warf? What for?"

"Um? Fishing?" the odd voice replied. There was something weird about that voice. Why did I have the sneaky suspicion that I'd heard it before?

Kayce chuckled. "You don't come to this part of town much, do you?"

"Possibly," the voice replied hesitantly.

I scowled in the darkness of my room. Who in the hell's voice was that? It was far too deep to be Charlie's. Drew? Mr. Wilskin our obnoxious neighbor?

"Well Andrew's not here, if you were looking for him."

Now, why would the Toad be looking for Andrew?

"No I actually came… for other reasons."

God, I just wanted to know who it was! But was it worth it to get out of bed and tiptoe across the house in order to figure it out? I mean, I was so comfortable and my eyes would be so sore if I made them face the light after all this time. I'd just have to figure it out with context clues.

"Oh? What?" Kayce asked bluntly.

"Um… I just wanted to make sure she was doing okay."

"Oh!" There was definitely a note of smug amusement in Kayce's voice. That comment wasn't funny. Why was Kayce so amused? "She's okay. I mean, not great, but I think she'll be getting out of bed any day now."

"She's been in bed all this time?" the voice sounded as if this was a personal insult. Was that a tone of… guilt?

"Well, it's been rough on her. I think it's all just sinking in."

"He's been gone for almost six months. Shouldn't she be…?"

"Getting over it?" Kayce harrumphed. "I think it has less to do with Nick as it does the baby."

This was followed only by stunned silence. I wanted to plug my ears and pretend this wasn't happening. Why was Kayce talking about this? Now my eyes were leaking again. Do you think it would hurt if I plugged them up with cotton balls?

"The baby?" the voice asked hoarsely.

"You didn't know about the miscarriage?" Kayce asked, slowly, suddenly realizing her error. "I figured you'd have known."

The man cleared his throat. "No, um, no I didn't know. She didn't mention it."

"Well she wouldn't. Surely you can understand that."

"Um yes. Listen, I think I should probably go."

"Oh. So soon?"

"Um, my cousin will be handling the divorce from now on so you probably won't be seeing much of me for awhile," the voice said hurriedly.

"Alright?"

"And, um," he continued and I heard a thud and if he'd just slipped down a couple of stairs in his panic to get out of the apartment, "could you just, just not tell Julia I was here? I think I'm the absolute last person she wants to see right now."

"Are you okay?" I heard Kayce ask worriedly. He must have nodded yes because she continued. "Alright, if you're sure. Bye CK."

I rolled over on my bed and let my eyes leak into my pillow again.

* * *

"Good evening!"

"You're lying on top of me," I grumbled, my jaw muffled into my pillow.

"Oh am I?" Kayce asked innocently. "I thought for sure you were a pillow."

"No."

Kayce giggled and rolled over, squeezing herself onto the edge of my bed. She lay on her back and I studied her out of the corner of my eye, for lack of anything better to think about. Over the course of the last week of solitary confinement, I'd exhausted just about every topic I could possibly contemplate.

And had yet to come to a single conclusion.

So instead, I'd study Kayce. She had a nice profile. A good sized nose: not too big, not too small. Her ears were nice too, if not a bit waxy. She should probably think about cleaning them. Her eyelashes were long. I wonder what kind of mascara she uses. She has nicely shaped lips too and they were parted in a slightly wistful smile as she lay there looking up at my glow-in-the-dark stars.

"Kayce," I whispered, playing with the sound of her name. If you really thought about it, it was a horrible name for her. The cacophony of the consonants seems to contradict everything Kayce stood for. She was a about hope, and purity, and innocence, but how were my ignorant parents to notice such qualities in a little baby?

And if you really thought about it, my name made no sense either.

Suddenly, Kayce's head tilted so that her cheek was pressed against my pillow and she was studying me just as I was her. Her eyes were darker than normal. They weren't the soft baby blue of the sky, but the deep inky blue of a ballpoint pen.

"Are you mad that I'm still in bed?"

Kayce shook her head. "Nope, but you can't stay in here forever."

I took a deep breath. "I know. I won't. I just need a little more time."

Kayce shook her head again. "I'm afraid, darling," she said, "that time is up."

I groaned. It couldn't be Thursday already, could it?

"Kayce?" we heard a male voice shout through the walls and moments later Kayce bellowed that we were in my room. I rubbed my ears. I think Kayce might have burst one of my eardrums.

"Aww, did I miss the party?" Andrew asked, as soon as the door swung open and he found us, his eyes taking a couple of minutes to adjust to the darkness of my cave. Then he grinned and before I knew it, both Kayce and I were being crushed beneath him.

We both cried out in pain and simultaneously kicked at him until he was rolled off of us and fell to the floor with a heavy thud. He groaned in agony, but the only sympathy I had was a quick, "Serves you right, fatso."

Kayce giggled at me then stood to help poor Andrew up. "Are you okay?" she gushed.

Andrew groaned again, holding his back, and hunched over in pain. Momentarily I felt sorry for his pain, but that quickly subsided when he suddenly leapt up and belly-flopped right on top of me.

"Get off me you big lug!" I shouted, not really angry with him. I managed to push him off the bed again and, once again, he landed with a deep thud. This time, however, he didn't milk it for all it was worth, but popped back up with a sloppy grin.

Kayce rolled her eyes. "Are you two ready to go yet?"

I shared a silent wince with Andrew. I hadn't even considered getting out of my bed today, yet alone packing for a month in Santa Barbara and Andrew looked as scruffy as a yeti. If he showed up to meet my parents like that, my mother would instantly begin to screech about her daughter marrying a random bum off the street.

"Umm, not quite," Andrew replied, lying back on my bed in the same spot Kayce had occupied moments before. "I wanted Julia to do a couple of things for me before we left."

I looked over at him as he stretched casually across my bed and I sat up to sit Indian style and frown at him. "Me?"

Andrew nodded and shrugged simultaneously. "Yes, you."

"What for?" I asked dumbly.

Andrew rubbed his hand over the whiskers on his chin, as if contemplating the subject. "Well… I could use a good foot massage."

I scowled and pushed his nasty foot off my lap as soon as he set it there. "No way!" I growled.

"It was worth a try." Andrew grinned. "What I really need is a haircut, so here I am! A blank canvas for you, my little Da Vinci!"

"I still have to pack," I whispered, hoping that possibly Kayce would take pity on me.

Kayce rolled her eyes. "You two are pathetic," she acquiesced as Andrew and I hopped off my bed and took her invitation as a chance to slip off to the bathroom to beautify the yeti.

On the way by, I kissed Kayce on the cheek and thanked her for her compassion. She merely rolled her eyes, but I knew she was grinning. I knew she was secretly happier than she'd ever let me see. She was happy that I was finally out of my bed.

And I was happy that she was happy. Or at least I could pretend that I was. I could pretend that everything was fine. Kayce deserved the lie.

* * *

We made the trip home in a little less than five hours and, after having spent a week in bed, I was quite glad to finally get out of Andrew's cramped little hybrid. It had been a long trip, between Andrew's horrible knack for changing lanes every five seconds—whether or not there was a car in the lane—and endless hours of Kayce blasting Celine Dion's entire life's work.

"Thank you sweet Jesus!" I breathed, falling to my knees on the pavement of my parent's driveway. "We're alive!"

"You're so dramatic," a freshly shaven, and quite spiffy looking if I may say so myself, Andrew said, shaking his head at my antics. "My driving isn't that bad."

"Ugh." I fell down into the grass nearby and watched the soft white clouds. That one looks like a rabbit! "Tell that to my stomach," I groaned.

Kayce quickly began unloading the trunk by transferring all of our bags into Andrew's waiting arms. Eventually the trunk was emptied and Andrew was piled down with bags like your average pack-mule. While they headed into the house, I continued to examine the clouds.

I would have to be prepared before I could go into that house. Sure, I'd been doing a damn good job pretending all afternoon, but any weakness my family noticed would be torn apart from all angles. Unlike Kayce, they weren't quite willing to overlook my faults. My mother was trouble enough by herself, but throw into the mix my unsociable father, obnoxiously blunt younger sister, and her cynical boyfriend and we have a flock of vultures. Weaknesses weren't allowed. I had to be perfectly normal, or at least close enough that they wouldn't notice how miserable I truly was.

"Family! We're here!" I heard Kayce shout as soon as she'd managed to get the door unlocked and force a laden-down Andrew through the thin entryway.

It was another five minutes of high pitched squealing from either my mother or Kurt, my sister's boyfriend who has a surprisingly high pitched voice when he's excited, before I heard anyone even mention the fact that I wasn't there. I slowly pulled myself up out of the grass and brushed the autumn leaves off my back. I forced a smile across my face and pressed the sadness deeper into my chest. I could get through this. No one had noticed anything all afternoon.

I made it inside in time to hear my mother hitting on Andrew and rubbing his arm while Andrew stood holding our bags uncomfortably. Oh god, she'd never change.

The first real words anyone said to me was from sweet little Caitlin: "Oh, Julia, you look like you've put on weight."

I blushed. "Thanks Cait," I said with my forced grin-and-bear-it smile. I continued to repeat my new mantra in my head: _You are fine. You are fine. You are absolutely fine._

"She looks absolutely fine," Kayce popped in there, scowling at our younger, brash sister.

Kurt snorted. "Yeah, if you like chubby girls."

I scowled at him. "So Kurt?" I said, changing track and replacing my scowl with a wicked smile. "Found a job yet?"

Kurt's features darkened and his lips pierced. He was particularly sensitive about the fact that he was 27 and still unemployed. I decided to use that little tidbit of knowledge to my advantage. To get through these holidays I'd need every weapon in my arsenal.

My mother was peering over my shoulder, as if looking for something to appear in front of my house. Or possibly someone. I looked at her darkly. "Stop looking for him mom. Nick's not coming."

My mother took a deep breath and sighed. "I just thought that maybe you'd come to your senses since we spoke last."

I rolled my eyes. There was no point in telling her that perhaps it was her that needed to come to her senses. She'd merely scream and become all mock-defensive. But still, it was tempting to lay into her.

Kayce, fortunately or unfortunately—depending on how you look at it—interrupted this chain of conversation before it could escalate. "Where's daddy?" she asked, redirecting quickly.

Mom shook her head and jerked it down the hall. "In his library," she said, then quickly resumed her uncomfortable terrorizing of Andrew with a quick, "So Andrew, when do you plan on proposing to my daughter?"

I took this as my cue to get out of there. As soon as possible.

I took a deep breath before knocking on my father's library door. Growing up, such an action as knocking never would have occurred to me. But things had changed over the years and daddy had made no attempts to call or visit me and the relationship had quickly fallen into the "strained" category. He preferred the company of his library to venturing out into the world to see his daughter. And you know the thing about phones! They're nearly impossible to pick up and punch in a few numbers. Or answer when they ring for the millionth time.

Communication with someone a mere five hours away is far too difficult, didn't you know?

I took the plunge and knocked. Then knocked again. After the third knock, when there was still no answer, I shook my head, disappointed once again, and decided that I'd just go settle into my room instead.

"Oh Andrew, you have very nice arms. Do you go to the gym?"

I took my bag from Andrew's pile and blocked out my mother's shrill voice. I was back for a mere ten minutes and I already had a headache.

Ah! It was great to be home.

* * *

_I'm sorry this chapter took so long. It's one of those things that you agonize over, but you still aren't happy so eventually you just decide to write whatever. Plus, I was busy. But then again who isn't…?_

_Either way, the next chapter hasn't been coming very quickly either. So… wish me luck with that and don't hold your breath._


	13. Kiss the Girl Part 1

_**Love Is a Four Letter Word**_

_Kiss the Girl: Part 1_

I bet you're wondering how I ended up here. Don't worry, I am too.

It's not everyday that a person wakes up their old bed, dizzy from too much wine the night before, groggy and tingly from the preceding events, and pressed up against the naked body of well…

I'm not so sure I'm ready to tell you exactly whose body it was. I'm not even sure I can admit it to myself.

It really is a dramatic twist in karmic retribution that he has to be so attractive. It wasn't enough that he was fairly rich, stable, and… I can't think of a single other quality that I like about him.

Except when he smiles and all the bad stuff begrudgingly slips away. And let the record show that he smiles in his sleep. Trust me. I know these things, for I'm watching him sleep this very moment.

Or am I?

I chuckled to myself. Oh how stupid am I! No. I am literally an idiot. How could I possibly think this entire situation was real? It's a dream! Another one of those damn, stupid, obnoxious dreams.

I chuckled again. For a second there I'd thought I'd actually… with… haha… oh god. It's actually rather funny now that I think about it. I should have known from the very first second that I was dreaming. I mean, how often do you wake up, post-coital, with a sickeningly attractive man in your bed and only a faint recollection of how he got there? Especially considering that he's a man you hate with undying passion.

I mean, had that really happened, you know, in real life, I'd probably go cover myself in honey and wait in the woods for the bears to come, but, seeing as this was a dream, I found the entire ordeal rather comical.

And now I can't stop laughing. I am curled up in my own bed, my dried sweat sticking to the bare skin of the man I hate second most in the entire world, laughing in my sleep.

"What's so funny?"

I looked up into the eyes of the owner of the naked body. His bright baby-blues were peering down at me rather curiously.

For a fleeting second I continued to chuckle, but that second quickly died and my gurgle of laughter caught in my throat causing me whimper instead. My senses were in overdrive. His skin was sticking to mine. He smelled like he'd just finished a three mile run mixed with the scent of blueberries. I was tired. Who is tired in their own dreams? Wouldn't that, in the end, destroy the very purpose of dreaming? I've never had a dream in which I actually thought about the fact that I was dreaming. I never had a dream that felt so real. And normally these dreams catch me in the act… not after the fact…

And that was the moment when I truly realized… Then it hit me… It couldn't be, could it...? I didn't… I wouldn't…

Oh god! I wasn't dreaming, was I? I really did sleep with CK Wilson.

* * *

Ok. Let's rewind.

I think this whole disaster started on Thanksgiving. Actually, it started long before Thanksgiving, but you already know that part so let's just go from where we left off.

Thanksgiving Day dawned a frigid 60 degrees outside. The sun was shining, the Macy's parade was a-rockin', and my mother was pounding on my bedroom door, screaming for me to help her stuff the turkey. I'd rolled over and muttered something unintelligible about Kayce helping with the turkey, then closed my eyes again to reclaim a couple moments of blissful quiet in the household that never sleeps.

I got a total of 45 seconds worth of sleep before my darling sister and her lovely boyfriend decided that they would love to barge into my room. Kurt belly-flopped onto my bed while Caitlin screeched loud profanities about how I had no good clothes for her to steal.

The rest of the morning passed in a similar fashion, I got stuck on kitchen duty while I could hear Kurt and Andrew shouting over their football game, and Caitlin whining about missing the dog show.

On the whole it was your average Thanksgiving. It was during dinner that things took a turn.

"Mom, can you pass the mashed potatoes?" I asked. Yeah, I know: a real life changing sentence, but really that's how it happened.

"Mashed potatoes? The carbs will go right to your ass," Kurt said with a grin while simultaneously shoving a biscuit down his throat.

I scowled at him. "You're just upset because, unlike your girl, I actually have an ass."

"More like three of them," Caitlin muttered under her breath, while hiding a snicker behind her wine glass. The table chortled with laughter, myself included. You see the thing about my family is that you really can't take them personally. For us, being cruel to each other is the equivalent of telling the other that we love them. It's just how we function: with plenty of sarcasm and anger. I didn't get these traits from nowhere. The only one that doesn't participate in these little games is… I would say Kayce but…

"Don't make fun of Jules's asses," Kayce added to the repartee. "She worked hard for them. They didn't just appear over night."

"Now would we consider them to be asses or assets?" Ah, I see Andrew's fitting in with the family just smashingly. Puns are the ultimate entertainment.

"If I wanted to obtain such features, how might I go about that Jules?" asked Caitlin, blinking at me innocently.

Kayce ducked out of my grasp, predicting bodily harm from my side of her at the table. "Oh Jules is on a strict ice cream, frosting and cookie dough diet."

I made a swipe at my older sister, but she was leaning so far away from me that she toppled from her chair before I could make contact. We all laughed as she lay sprawled out on the floor, wrapped around her own chair.

"Don't worry, I'll help myself up," she muttered as she lumbered back into her chair.

"You know, you guys shouldn't be so mean to Julia," my mother dropped in there, chewing on her spinach salad and ignoring all forms of real food. "She is all alone now, with absolutely no one to be there for her."

"Oh thanks mom, your love and reassurances have done a lot to soothe my fears," I replied sarcastically.

"Give Jules a break, Mom. She's having a rough time with this divorce thing. Her lawyer is completely incompetent and she's facing the best divorce lawyer in the state," Kayce defended me. You see this is why she's my favorite sister.

"Well, if only she'd just decided to put away this silly divorce idea. I mean, really Julia, you two were only married for three years, how badly could it have gone?" my mother began to lecture. The entire table felt a sermon coming on and Kurt, Caitlin, and I began a game of basketball with rolled up pieces of bread and Andrew's wine glass. My mother, oblivious as per usual, began to give us an in-depth synopsis on what each of the 32 members of her bunko club felt about divorce. "…Because marriage after all is supposed to be forever. And it's not as though Nick did anything wrong."

Andrew snorted stupidly. "Yeah, except cheat on her."

Oh shit.

You see, there may, maybe, might be one itsy-bitsy, little, tiny, nearly inconsequential detail that I failed to mention.

For the very first time, my family was completely and totally silent. The only sound was the momentary clatter of silverware as each family member, in turn, dropped their forks and knives and spoons. Kurt choked on his gin-n-tonic; my father looked up from where he was carving the turkey; my mother's mouth dropped open. The silence sent prickles down my spine, for the first time in family history my family was completely and utterly silent.

"What?" Of course it was only natural that Caitlin would be the one to break the silence.

I shifted awkwardly in my chair. Why did it seem like the hardest people to tell my tales to, were the ones that cared about me the most. Sure, there was the fact that I didn't want that giant hole in the middle of my chest to be constantly picked at, but here I tell random people on the street about my troubles. Surely my mother deserves to hear it to.

Sometimes it's easier to reveal your weaknesses to a stranger rather than your own family.

"He cheated on you?" my father asked, his second words to me since my arrival, the first of course being: "Do you want jellied cranberries or crushed?"

I looked down at my plate. You know, my mother's wedding china was much nicer than mine… well at least it would have been had I not sold it.

"Yes," I muttered eventually.

Cue more thick silence. Is the air always this thick? C'mon Caitlin, do what you do best and make some sort of loud, rude proclamation about your hair or something as equally mundane.

Oddly, it wasn't Caitlin that broke the silence. It was my mother: "What an absolute fucker!"

Andrew's eyes grew wide, Kayce bit back a smile, Caitlin let her giggles claim her, and my father nodded his agreement.

"All right Mrs. S!" Kurt cheered, looking at my mother in a whole new respect.

My mother pierced her lips and nodded once as if she felt completely justified for cussing in the presence of her children for the first time in the past 28 years.

The only sound, as the rest of the family tried to regain their composure, was a bit more tinkling of glass, but this is the Simon house and silence doesn't last long.

"You know Julia," Kurt began, "if you want, and for a small nominal fee, I could kill him for you."

And with that things were back to normal. The family erupted with laughter, and I gave a mandatory reply. "Anything for a buck, huh? What's next? Turning tricks on the corner?"

"Oh, honey," Caitlin scolded, "I already told you that you'll never find work as a paid assassin."

"Someone's been watching too much Kill Bill," Andrew muttered.

Kurt shook his head and grinned. "Nah, I was thinking more of a Jason Bourne kind of deal."

* * *

That would be the last sunny day of the month. The rest of November was clouded over as the winter rains rolled in and the temperatures dropped. I spent most of my time watching Kurt play video games and discuss his future as an airplane pilot and how it was such a shame that "stewardess no longer have to be hot."

I also managed to rake in a bit of extra cash by styling the hair of every woman in my mother's Bunko group at 25 a pop. It was reassuring to know that if my salon went under, I could still scrape by on old ladies and lawn trimmings… very Edward Scissorhands, minus the creepy sexual implications.

But I knew the real reason these crazy, middle-aged suburbanites wanted me to come cut their hair: they wanted to set me up with their sons.

You see, it is a known fact in upper class suburbia that a single woman must be in want of a husband. Heaven forbid someone actually be single, or, you know, independent. No, no! Don't you know that we need a man? Someone to bring home the bacon, buy us pretty jewelry and standby as we flirt with our tennis instructors. Someone that can commute to LA, has a mistress in every Californian city, and commonly calls me by the wrong name… accidentally, of course.

And you know me, just jumping to get into the bed of any man that would possibly take me. Let's consider my options, shall we?

First, there was Mikey, the previously mentioned high school quarterback that I was thoroughly in love with. Mikey, however, is now making a pathetic living driving cabs in Central LA and coming home every weekend to see his mother and two illegitimate children, as well as speak incessantly to everyone in town about his kidney stones. Needless to say, that was an awkward thirty minutes.

Then we had Creepy Colin who refers to himself in third person and is living testament that male-patterned-baldness can strike at any age.

Next, we have Stephen who I spent an entire, and very long, night with while he sat there blazed out of his mind. He later asked me if I'd take a few hits with him, I smacked him on the cheek, told him I wasn't 17 years old anymore and that perhaps it was time he grew up and got out of his parent's basement. I think I made a real impact on the course of his life.

You think that's bad? Oh, honey, I'm just getting started. We have Mack who graphically describes battles from the civil war and asked me, quite seriously, if I'd like to see his civil war figurine collection. Then there was Tom who, I believe, had merely forgotten to mention to his mother that he was gayer than a picnic basket; Adam the alcoholic; Keith with solid gold teeth; Kevin who works at Burger King; and the list goes on.

I know you're wondering what my string of bad dates has to do with anything. Slow down. I'm getting there.

My mother, upon hearing that Nick had cheated on me, tossed him aside like spoiled milk. She then decided that, since Nick was now officially out of the picture, it was her divine responsibility to find her dear daughter a new husband by Christmas. Perhaps, if I were truly lucky, my mother would even arrange for him to wear a bow atop his head.

So I realize that in her own little demented world, she merely wanted to see me happy, but still there was no way I was going to sit through another date with guys like Louis the narcissist that couldn't take his eyes off my breasts. I was having a hard enough time as it was, and although I did appreciate the distractions from my own morbid thoughts, I figured it was time I requested this little hunt end before I got murdered by some random creeper.

I decided to confront my mother, two days before Christmas, while I was wondering around the house with a giant jar of Christmas colored M&Ms and the biggest tube of wrapping paper you have ever seen, off to the guest room to wrap the presents I'd hidden in the secret part of the closet. It'd long since been my favorite hiding spot and the best one in the house. While Caitlin, the biggest snoop ever, always found everyone else's presents, mine were safe and sound in an abandoned air duct.

"Hello Mommy," I said casually lying down on the bed she was in the middle of making. I had set the wrapping paper outside the door as soon as I noticed her inside and was prepared to play this off like I wanted to see her and not wrap my presents. I held out the jar of M&Ms to her and offered her some. She merely scowled and shook her head no doubt making a mental calorie calculation.

"Whatcha doing?" I asked, crunching on more than a hand-full of the little candies at once.

"Making the bed for Andrew's friend," she replied still scowling at me, not because I was me, but because I was laying smack dab in the middle of the aforementioned bed. I hopped up before she could set me on fire with her heat vision. I think we all know where I inherited my scowling from.

I stood by the door now leaning against the bright yellow wall and still crunching away on my M&Ms. My mother struggled with the bed. I could tell just by her mannerisms that her back was hurting her and I felt guilty. I quickly put down my candies and grabbed the other corners of the sheet she was spreading, pulling it tight between us and stretching it across the bed.

"Mom, do you think it'd be okay if I didn't go on any more blind dates?" I asked out of left field. She didn't look at me, just tossed me a pillow case to put on the pillow. I did so obediently, but that didn't mean I was finished. "I'm just not ready to start dating again."

There it was: the lip pierce. She still wasn't look at me exactly, but when you know someone well enough, it's not that hard to tell what they're saying when they're saying nothing at all. "Why not? You can't wallow over that loser forever."

I love that less than a month ago my mother was explaining to me that getting back together with Nick was the only option, but I hadn't told her he had cheated because I knew this would be her reaction. She couldn't stand cheaters. It was, she considered, the only reason a marriage should end—domestic differences weren't an option, just look at her and dad.

"Yes, I know that," I confessed, because I did know that. Did you think I didn't? "But I don't think the men you've set me up with are much better."

Now she looked at me, but I wasn't reassured. It was one of suggestive, sidelong glances that normally meant my mother had something up her sleeve. "Well…" her gaze shifted from me to the empty bed we were making.

I scowled. Whose bed was this? I thought back to what my mother had just said: "It's for a friend of Andrew's." A friend of Andrew's… but that could only mean one person…

"Mother, is CK Wilson coming to stay with us?" I asked, suddenly shouting.

My mother nodded and grinned, glad I'd caught her message. "Oh, so you've met him."

My face purpled. "Of course I've met him! CK Wilson just happens to be Nick's divorce lawyer!"

My mother blanched. "No!" she gasped, sad that her plan had already come to ruin.

"Yes," I confirmed. "Not to mention the world's greatest asshole."

I began pacing the room, yanking on my hair. This was the last thing I needed. I'd been doing so well, functioning like a normal person and then my stupid sister and her stupid boyfriend had to go and ruin it all by bringing CK Wilson back with them for Christmas. I hate Kayce! It was bad enough that she had gone back to San Fran and left me here with a string of endless dates, but now to bring the enemy into my base! Ah! It was like bringing cocaine into rehab, a recipe for relapse.

"My god, I hate him already," my mother concluded quickly, watching my intense overreaction.

And the worst part was that Kayce and Andrew were set to arrive tomorrow. That meant CK would be in tow. I wasn't prepared for this. There was no way I'd make it through Christmas without committing murder. Absolutely no way!!

And to think, my biggest problem had been an excess of blind dates, now it was how t restrain myself from stabbing CK Wilson while he slept.

Or worse.

* * *

_Yey! A new chapter! I thought you guys would like it better than the last one, much less depressing. So… I bet you're wondering how CK and Julia did end up together. Sorry, it'll just have to wait until I can post again. But since I'm heading off to New Orleans it would take a real miracle for me to post before next weekend. That, or a lot of sobbing and groveling._

_In other news, Happy Easter! I had a hell of a time trying to get this baby written! Easier than the last one by far, but still it was hard to not just jump right into the CK portion. You see I hate chapters that don't have CK in them too, but sometimes they're necessary._

_Ok ta-da! This was your Easter miracle. I hop you enjoyed it more than your chocolate bunny. _


	14. Kiss the Girl Part 2

_**Love Is a Four Letter Word**_

_Kiss the Girl: Part 2_

I don't know if you know this, but if you have a spoon and two Cheerios stuck on the spoon, it looks kind of like your spoon has eyes. And if you turn the spoon upside down, it looks kind of like your spoon is a snake.

But since I am afraid of snakes, I decided to keep my spoon downside up.

"Oh Hubert," I sighed, looking into the deep, endless pools of my spoon's milky-white eyes. "Sometimes, I feel as if you'll never truly understand me."

Hubert, who is a rather good listener, albeit fairly expressionless, merely stared back at me from his round brown eyes.

"Gosh, Hubert! I feel as though this is a one-sided relationship. I can't put all the work into it. You have to give a little too. You have to understand that I have needs!" I complained to the poor, innocent spoon.

Again, Hubert said nothing.

"You know what, Hubert? I just don't think this is going to work out." And with that thought I took a bite, and swallowed Hubert's unblinking eyes.

"Family, we're home!"

Ah. The evil sister has arrived. Shouldn't she be off rotting in hell or somewhere as equally unfortunate? She can take her boyfriend and his demonic best friend with her.

"Family?" Kayce's voice followed the sound of silence, floating through the house. "Is anyone home?" she called, her voice growing louder as she wandered through the house looking for someone. "I come bearing presents!" she tried again.

Oh how you underestimate me Kayce. Only Caitlin would be dumb enough to be tempted out of hiding at the mere mention of presents. I however am much too stubborn to be swayed so easily.

Although, if I really didn't wish to be found, perhaps I could have found a better place to seek refuge than the kitchen. It was only a matter of moments before my sister was wandering through the kitchen door, her arms laden with all the food she'd cleared out her apartment to keep from going bad during her two weeks back home for Christmas.

"Oh, Julia! I thought no one was home," she squeaked, stopping in her tracks and allowing the kitchen door to swing back closed and clip her on the buttocks. Once again, in a matter of three seconds, Kayce found herself startled. She squeaked again and dropped all the groceries she had in her arms.

Hubert laughed at her. I studied my cereal with interest.

As soon as Kayce finished picking up her boxes of crackers and bags of chips, she took the seat beside me at the table and decided that she had absolutely nothing better to do than stare me down. "How was your sabbatical, Jules?" she asked, still studying me.

I wanted to tell her that if she wanted to study something, perhaps she should go back to school or, you know, a center for people that like to study, but I was too busy ignoring her to make such a comment. Plus, I was staring determinedly into my milk.

But if Hubert had something to say, who was I to stop him? "Kayce Simon, you're a bad sister!" he chirped, in his high-pitched, oddly feminine voice, emphasizing the word "bad."

Kayce stared at my spoon in indignation. "Are you serious?" she asked me.

But of course I was too busy eating my cereal to have heard her. Hubert decided he'd care to explain. "Yes, Kayce, Hubert is very serious. Hubert thinks you should know that Julia's very mad that you brought that evil man into her house. How is she supposed to enjoy her holiday with the grinch sucking all happiness right out of her?"

"Well," Kayce began, smiling slightly. "Hubert was it? Perhaps you should tell Julia that she's a bit selfish for only thinking of herself at a time like this."

"Hubert," I called. "Could you tell that bee buzzing around my ear that not everyone in the world is a charity case. And it is not her job to try to help some random stranger."

Hubert cleared his throat before he replied, his silver body wiggling in the air, "I do believe the phrase my friend is looking for is: Hos before da bros."

"I got some Hos for you," a new voice said from the kitchen door, stepping over the remnants of discarded pasta from Kayce's little spill. "In fact I've got three of them. Ho, ho, ho!" Andrew laughed, bellowing as if her a jovial symbol of youth and giving, and clutching his imaginary rotund belly.

"Thank you for clearing that up, dear St. Nick," I sneered, unable to keep up my defenses at his antics.

"Oh, so you'll talk to him, then?" Kayce scowled at me. "It was just as much his fault that CK Wilson was invited, as it was mine."

Hubert poked his head up out of the bowel. "He's a man. He doesn't know any better," Hubert observed.

Andrew scratched his head comically. "I'm trying to figure out which one of us should be offended by that comment."

"You should all be offended. I hate you all for making me put up with the world's greatest ass hole for a week. You know that I hate CK Wilson with all my being," I growled into my milk.

At that moment, a fourth person cleared their throat from the doorway. Now, I'm not sure I've bothered to mention this before, but CK Wilson is, begrudgingly, a fairly attractive man. He has nice dark hair, always parted to the left. Broad, muscular shoulders. Tiny traces of dimples that are hardly ever visible because he never smiles. Soft lips... I can only suppose... Big, strong hands. And, the cherry on top, those striking baby blues.

Now, normally, I would be too consumed with pure hatred to bother to care, and today was no exception. Except he caught me slightly off-guard. It's been almost a month since I'd seen him, and in that course of time I'd imagined him to have big red horns and carry a pitchfork. CK Wilson can make your knees go weak if he sneaks up on you by surprise. You have to prepare yourself to see his adonis-like image.

"Where can I put my stuff?" he asked, staring resolutely at our linoleum floor, obviously having heard my proclamation.

That's when I stood up, slowly walked over to him, and poured my bowl of milk over his head. No. Not really. But I desperately wanted to. I hate CK Wilson with undying passion and nothing in this world could ever change that.

So. I suppose you're wondering how I ended up in his bed on Christmas morning. Hmm...

Mind if I skip ahead a bit?

About an hour later, Caitlin and Kurt were home from their three hour shopping excursion bearing gifts mainly for themselves. Caitlin bought a scarf that daddy could give her, even though she already knew our parents had gotten her a new lap top. She also brought home a new pair of leather boots, that she plans on paying for by returning whatever present I already got her, sure, without even knowing what it is, that she'll hate it.

Kurt just came home depressed because Caitlin wouldn't let him get a puppy, never mind the fact that he's allergic.

My father didn't get home. Turns out he'd been there all along, but he'd been hiding in his study. No one would have known he was even at the house if they hadn't heard The Police blasting from his study later that afternoon.

My mother got home from the spa, chipper after a good facial scrub, and quite shocked at the attractive man sitting in her kitchen, still staring lazily at the linoleum.

"Who do we have here?" my mother asked, obviously too stunned by CK's hotness to make the simple connection between him and my loathed enemy. She walked up to him, hugged the complete stranger while he stood there stiffly, and finally felt up his bicep. That's my mother for you...

I was drowning my sorrows in my third bowl of cereal for the day. It's Special K. That has so few calories it barely even counts as food.

"Mom, meet CK. Andrew's friend," Kayce introduced, studying my resolutely blank face with far too much interest.

"Oh? ..._Oh!_" She crinkled up her face momentarily, her eyes flicking over her shoulder to where I sat, trying to make my milk boil with my intense scowl. Now, my mother had proclaimed just two days ago that she would hate CK without even knowing him. True to her word, she forced herself to step away, screwing up her face in agony at her dilemma. On the one hand she has her emotionally abandoned daughter. On the other, CK was rather better looking than I suppose she imagined. Oh the conflict!

The room was thick with tension-- "DON'T STAND SO CLOSE TO ME!" My father's music suddenly started up, jumping down the hallway and shaking our entire house to it's rhythm.

Andrew grinned at us. "Well, what do you know? The Awkward Moment Killer 3000 actually works."

My mother finally made her decision, stuck her nose into the air, and proclaimed in a clipped tone, "Well, CK, grab your things. I suppose I have to show you your room."

I listened in, for lack of the ability to feign interest in my milk for one more second, as my mother stiffly made her way through the ground rules. "There's a bathroom on the left. Two upstairs. Be careful using the shower, too much to the left and you shut down the water for the entire neighborhood. Be careful, CK, when you shut the door to the guest room. The lock on that baby has been broken for years. Kurt's pet python escaped about a week ago. If you see him don't panic. He's absolutely harmless, but probably pretty hungry. If you need extra blankets they're in the hall. Oh you're so strong. Do you workout?"

Would it be impossible to drown yourself in a bowel of milk?

"You're pathetic," Hubert muttered to me, shaking his flat, metal head as if he could read my thoughts.

* * *

Now, I've been hiding my Christmas presents since I was twelve years old in the guest bedroom's air duct.

Thinking nothing of the matter, I strolled lazily into the room on Christmas Eve, having avoided the room and its resident for as long as possible. But Christmas was in little less than a couple of hours, and wrapping could be put off no longer.

Now, as I was saying, I strolled lazily into the room. Ok, that's a lie. I crept slowly around the corner, feeling my way into the dark room with my large roll of wrapping paper. I'd been waiting all day to make absolutely sure that CK Wilson wouldn't be present during Operation: Gift Extraction. Sure the room was dark, but I entered on high-alert anyway. One can never be too sure about these things...

I flicked on the light, my eyes clenched tightly closed just in case CK was standing stark naked in the middle of his room. Ok, no girlish screams... I tentatively opened one eye and quelled the inexplicable disappointment that CK's bare body wasn't present.

I stood slightly shocked in the doorway, startled by such a thought and throughly paralyzed by the mental image. Why did CK have to be so attractive? Stupid jerk. I can't believe he'd seep into my conscience. He has no right to be so sexy in my own brain.

By the time I'd grown throughly indignant at my own imagination, I had to snap myself awake again and recall the task at hand. Right. The naked thoughts need to stop. What was I here for again? Nakedness?

Think the word naked one more time and I'll kill you.

Yes, I'm threatening myself. Ugh! Why can't I register a single thought except _nakedness_? I know I was here for a reason. Naked. Naked. Naked, naked, naked, naked.

I have issues. Wait! Issues... my mother... family... martians... Christmas... presents! I remember now. I came here for presents!

I rushed over to the closet and reached up toward the air duct, unlocking the vent and pulling down the filter. Ah! Blissful presents. Free at last. Free at last. Ew... and a bit dusty. I coughed as I was covered in disgusting lint and mothballs. I felt around in the duct, too short too see what I was touching. Ew. Is that a dead rat?

I jumped back and squealed, next to positive that it was some sort of formerly living creature because I sure as hell didn't get my father a fuzzy Nerf-football for Christmas.

"Are you okay?"

Ugh. What's his obsession with watching people from doorways? I think CK has eavesdropping issues.

"Yes," I replied gruffly, sticking my nose up in the air to protect myself from facing him. Was it just me or was he naked? Tentatively I snuck a look. Nope, not just me. That sure was a nice towel though. Had I not, once again, been paralyzed, I would have laughed loudly at the sight of CK Wilson bare chested with my mother's pink embroidered towel wrapped loosely around his waist. You know, his hair looks kind of, really super sexy all tousled and wet like that. Hey, look at that bead of water dripping down his chest... Where do you think it's going?

Um... I'm not drooling. I promise I'm not.

CK eyed me wearily, or at least I think he did. I can't be sure. I was too busy staring at his pectorals. "Are you okay?" he repeated from earlier. Or at least I think he did. As I mentioned, I was a bit too preoccupied to notice.

"Um. Presents," I squeaked, my voice cracking like a pre-pubescent boy. I rushed back over to the air duct to get my gifts and go, the dead rat completely out of mind. I reached up, and cried out in frustration after another thirty seconds of unsuccessful present extraction. Why did the damn air duct have to be so high up? How did I ever manage this when I was twelve? I'm almost positive I'm shrinking. I growled in anger after yet another unsuccessful attempt, and punched the wall lightly.

Without a word, CK reached up over me and pulled down the dress I'd bought two weeks ago for Caitlin. As he reached up, his body pressed closer to me, trapping me between the wall and him. I numbly took the dress as he held it out to me, all thought gone completely from my brain.

Wait. I finally regained some semblance of thought and remembered that I hate this half-naked man. "Dude!" I shouted, pushing him away. "Haven't you ever heard of personal space?"

CK shrugged. "I was just trying to help."

"Yeah, well I don't need your help! In fact, right this instant I'm instilling the five-foot rule. For this rest of your visit, you're not to come within a five-foot radius of me. Got it, bud?" I snapped.

I didn't wait for an answer. I began to make my way toward the door, but stopped to admonish him once more. "And, by the way, it's against the rules to be naked in your own room!"

With that, I left in a huff. I slammed the door shut behind me. I made it about three steps down the hall before I remembered something.

Damn. Stupid presents.

I popped my head into CK's room, once again my eyes shut tightly in case that pink towel decided to come off. "CK?" I called. "Could you do me one little favor?"

* * *

Now I don't know if you picked up on this, but my mother, for once in her life, said something of value earlier. And no I don't mean, _"Your cologne is kind of sexy, CK, maybe I should get it for my husband."_

No, no, definitely not that. I was thinking more along the lines of, "_Be careful, CK, when you shut the door to the guest room. The lock on that baby has been broken for years." _When I popped my head back into CK Wilson's room, I blindly forgot that, stumbled through the doorway, my eyes still tightly sealed, clattered against the bedside table, and landed face-down on the grimy carpet. The door clunking shut behind me.

For the briefest of moments I thought I heard a male voice chuckle, but I looked up, my face contorted in embarrassed anger, and saw that CK Wilson's face was suddenly completely void of amusement. "Yeah, that's what I thought. You better not laugh at me," I muttered under my breath.

"Are you okay?" CK asked, for the third time in a span of ten minutes.

"Are you capable of saying anything other than that?" I practically shouted, the presents forgotten again as I let my anger boil over. I jumped to my feet, glared at him for good measure, and stomped to the door.

Cue sudden realization: Door will not open. I yanked, pulled, twisted and jerked. The door would not budge. I did it all again. Finally I just screamed. "Door! I command you to open!" I shouted at it, once again, speaking to an inanimate object.

"I don't think it works like that," Ck pointed out, as if he were the resident door expert.

I glared at him, felt another bubble of rage seeping through me, and began jerking on the door again, desperate to get out.

I heard CK heave a sigh and before I knew it was being pushed out of the way. CK twisted the knob once. It didn't move. His eyebrows creased in thought for a moment.

"C'mon. Get it open, Superman," I commanded sardonically.

"Don't rush me," he muttered, still staring at the door. He then tilted his head to the side, cracked his neck, cracked his shoulders, cracked each of his fingers, tightened the towel around his waist and threw his shoulder into the door.

It didn't move.

"Really brilliant there, Nash," I chuckled as he rubbed his shoulder. But suddenly my chuckles were drowned out in his whimpers of pain and my own sudden realization.

I was stuck in a room with CK Wilson.

* * *

_Wow! I'm so sorry this took so long. I was... dead. In a ditch. But I'm feeling much better now. Julia, on the other hand, is not. _

_The next chapter might be a bit fluffy. Or graphic. I haven't decided which road I'd like to take with it. Knowing Julia, I'd say graphic. She' s a bit too intense for cutesy lines and "gentle caresses." Yeah, that's not her style._

_Hopefully my writer's block will subside and I'll be able to do some serious writing for all my loyal reviews. I'm on Spring Break so I should have some extra time. Plus I got a new lappy. (Macs are sweet man.) I've just been suffering from self-diagnosed ADD. I can't sit still for more than five seconds. If I do, I fall asleep. (ADD meets narcolepsy? Interesting combo.) Plus, I'm like buzzing with all these ideas. I can't shut them up and I'm too hyper to sit down and jot them down. It's quite the predicament._

_Anyway, I'm going to go ahead and say that you've been waiting for the next chapter for a little while, but beg you for a bit more time. And, of course, a few more reviews?_


	15. Kiss the Girl Part 3

_**WARNING: This chapter has an elevated rating. **_

_The very last scene is rated M. I offer you the opportunity to turn back. You can skip this chapter if you choose. I suggest, if you wish, that you stop reading after the short little list near the end. Everything prior to that, I assure you is quite normal._

* * *

_**Love Is a Four Letter Word**_

_Kiss the Girl: Part Three_

It is a truth, I believe it's universally acknowledged but I can't be sure, that a sexy man, half naked while in a bedroom with a recently single woman can only lead to bad things. No matter how much that aforementioned woman may hate the aforementioned man.

"I need you to put your finger there," I commanded, scowling at the man in question, whose name in case you forgot is CK Wilson.

CK rolled his eyes, resenting my command and eventually placed his finger where directed. He held down the shiny wrapping paper to my father's new CD stereo as I carefully rationed my last little bit of tape from the dispenser. You see, when trapped in a locked bedroom on Christmas Eve, one might as well make the most of it. Especially since this was my last present wrapping chance.

I then carefully placed my tape over the flap of paper CK was holding down, my fingers brushing against his in an attempt to keep the paper taunt. CK quickly pulled away as I concentrated on folding down the other corner.

This time I decided to hand CK the tape dispenser. "Make yourself useful," I said with irritation.

CK sighed, not liking me bossing him around. "You can't tell me what to do," he muttered. I believe, unless he is ridiculously stupid- which is a possibility- that CK never meant for me to hear such a comment.

I pinched him on the arm. I believe that was appropriate punishment.

"Ow," he squeaked like a little girl. "What the fuck was that for?"

"Hey there, Mr. Humble, why don't you stop all this complaining and do something nice for a change. It is Christmas. Not CK Wilson Day."

CK snorted. "CK Wilson Day?"

I shrugged and shoved my nose up in the air. "Yes. It is not, nor will it ever be, a day to sit around an worship the great and almighty CK."

CK pierced his lips. "I think that's probably the dumbest thing I've heard since third grade."

"I think _you're_ the dumbest thing I've heard since third grade."

"Oh, you're really mature."

"I'm rubber and you're glue. Whatever you say, bounces off of me and sticks to you."

I looked down at my present, only to find that I'd let my corner go, and managed to crinkle the sides. Shit. I didn't have enough tape to start again. "Ugh," I cried out, glaring at CK. "Now, because of you, I have to give my father an ugly present."

"What's it matter? He's gonna rip it up anyway!"

CK made sure to hold onto his towel as he stood from the floor and crossed the room before I could cause more bodily harm.

I rolled my eyes. "Why don't you get dressed," I suggested, no longer yelling. Andrew and Kayce had gone out for a private dinner, my mother had locked herself in the attic to finish wrapping her and my father's presents, my father was locked in his study on the entire other side of the house, and Caitlin and Kurt had headed off to Kurt's family's house for the night. I could scream for days, and no one would hear me. There was no use arguing anymore.

"Because I enjoy being uncomfortable and naked so much more," CK taunted sarcastically.

Or at least I wouldn't have argued anymore, had CK Wilson not been the most frustrating man in existence. My chin wrinkled up in anger, ready to shout back some sort of juvenile reply. I just can't help myself. He makes me want to fight with him.

CK stopped me before I could start screaming. "I left my duffel bag in the bathroom."

"Then why didn't you get dressed in the bathroom?" I prodded.

"Because I left my kit bag in here."

"What did you need your kit bag for?"

CK breathed a quick frustrated growl. "Am I being interrogated?" he snapped. I recoiled, biting my lip to keep from shouting, and scowling down at my father's CD player. CK heaved another growl. Out of my peripheral vision, I saw him yank a hand through his hair. "I needed to shave," he finally replied.

"Oh." I looked back up at him. It was true. he did have a bit of stubble going on. "Yeah."

"Why do you say it like that?"

"Like what?"

"Why do you say it so condescendingly?"

"All I said was 'yeah.'"

"Yes, but you said it with a tone."

"I didn't have a tone."

CK rolled his eyes. "Sure, you didn't," he muttered under his breath again.

I took a deep gulp of breath. "Ok look, no more of this."

"This?"

"This arguing," I concluded, shouting again. I took another gulp and counted to three slowly. He looked at me like I was crazy, but I didn't care because I managed to level my voice to a normal decibel. "You and I could be stuck in here for the rest of the night. We need to at least not kill each other. I'd prefer if my family didn't have to attend my funeral on Christmas morning."

CK nodded once and took a deep breath before resuming his spot on the floor near my jumble of wrappings. It was peaceful and quiet for an entire minute before the big dope had to go and open his mouth again. "You know it normally takes about three days to organize a funeral so it seems unlikely they'd have to attend your funeral on Christmas morning."

I glared at him. "Are you trying to be contrary."

"No, I was trying to be funny."

"Yeah, well you're not very good at it."

* * *

"So I was at this pottery class, right? I'd taken a few sessions, but was getting absolutely nowhere with it. And I was trying to make a bowl when the instructor comes over and tells me that it looked more like a certain part of the female anatomy and less like a bowl."

It had been about an hour, and after twenty or so minutes of awkward silence permeated with snide comments, CK and I finally found some middle ground and took to discussing our favorite topics: ourselves. Plus, I'd also begrudgingly cracked the bottle of wine I'd been holding onto to give to my mother, and the two of us had been passing the bottle between us until we were sufficiently buzzed.

CK chuckled appreciatively.

I nodded and gave him a look to confirm that my pottery instructor wasn't just being cruel. "I was so embarrassed after she said that in front of the entire class, that I resolved to drop the class the next day.

"So I show up, having borrowed a little money from Kayce to pay the cancellation fee, and somehow I end up having coffee with the instructor instead."

"What happened next?" CK prodded, genuinely intrigued.

I shrugged. "I ended up signing up for the expert class and agreeing to a blind date with the instructor's son. Next thing I know, I'm eloping to Vegas and bringing home an entire set of va-jay-jay bowls."

CK laughed. "So that's how you met Nick?"

I shrugged. "Yeah, he used to love when I'd tell that story." I quickly grabbed a piece of tape to push the thought from my mind. CK expertly and quickly moved his hand just as I pressed the tape to the spot of paper he'd been holding down. We'd been doing this for an hour. We'd formed a kind of pattern with our movements.

As soon as CK's hands were free, he picked back up the bottle of wine and took a gulping sip straight from the bottle and passed it to me. I did the same, finishing off the bottle, then folded the final corner of Kayce's present. CK automatically pressed his finger to the spot I'd indicated to while I pulled the last little bit of tape and fastened down the paper. I grinned at him as soon as it was in place.

"Guess what."

"We're finished?"

I grinned again and he let out a sigh of relief.

"Thank god. I didn't know someone could ever need that many presents."

"Yes well. I like to buy things for people," I muttered, stacking all of my shiny and pretty presents into a neat pile.

"And by people, you mean yourself," CK pointed out.

"I resent the insinuation."

"It was a hardly an insinuation. It seemed pretty straight to the point."

"Yes, but it _implied_ that I'm spoiled."

"If I recall, it more than implied it."

I took a deep breath. So we were back here again? More demeaning comments and childish, petty banter. "You know what CK. I don't think you have the right to judge me. I'm a self made girl. I spent a long time being broke after I dropped out of school. I used to beg Kayce for money after my parents cut me off. I finally found something I loved and I'm damned good at it. I paid for Nick to attend grad school. Now I'm finally out of debt and if I want to buy myself some nice things, then I'm sure as hell going to."

"That was a nice little tirade. How long were you planning that?"

I glared. "It was spontaneous."

"Of course it was."

"What's that mean?" I snapped.

"Everything with you has to be spontaneous."

"I've learned that it's best not to have expectations."

CK's eyebrows creased together as he slowly processed my words. We weren't by any means drunk off a measly bottle of wine, but we'd reached the point of intoxication in which alcohol begins to mirror the effects of a truth serum and you find yourself unable to prevent your hidden secrets from coming out.

And for some reason I was oddly horny.

"It's all an act, isn't it?" CK whispered, as if it was all some big conspiracy. I leaned in closer so I could hear. "Your whole tough-girl routine is just a _big_ cover up. You're scared as hell because you've been hurt so many times."

"And your pride and narcissism is just a facade to mask your insecurities," I pointed out with a toothy, triumphant grin.

"No, I think that's masking other things," he breathed, fairly close to my ear. "You're the one that's scared."

Why did the feel of his breath against my skin make me feel all tingly? He was close enough now that I could clearly see his stubble. Was my anger abating? Or growing? I couldn't tell.

"I'm not scared of _anything_," I bit with a warning tone. "And don't psychoanalyze me."

My chest was kind of burning. I was pretty sure my lungs were kicking into my ribs, knocking around inside me and stirring things up. Things that weren't supposed to be stirred.

This needed to stop. He was too close and I was quickly becoming angry. It would only be a matter of time before one of us really ended up dead. It's kind of like taunting a dog. It's only seems harmless until someone gets bit.

I moved away from him. "I'm not the kind of woman that wears her heart on her sleeve."

CK scoffed. "You don't wear anything on your sleeve except a stun-gun."

"I don't know why I even bother being nice to you," I shouted, "You are such an _asshole."_

"Being nice?" he echoed, his voice loud and incredulous. "If this is you being nice, then I'd hate to see you mean. Do you grow horns and a tail?"

Just don't hit him. He's not worth it.

"Ever since I first met you," he continued, "you've been nothing but a bitch to me."

Maybe it would be worth it.

Oh, don't do it. It was after midnight, which meant it was Christmas. You can't murder someone on Christmas. I rushed to the door, desperate to get out before I changed my mind.

CK, however, enjoyed making things as difficult as possible. "You're the most spoiled-" he stood from the floor "-obnoxious-" Why was he coming towards me? "-insecure-" Perhaps he just wanted to help with the door... "-thoughtless, conceited, frustrating person ever," he finished, now standing but a centimeter away. I could feel his breath on my skin again. It burned. Perhaps he'd acquired the ability to breathe fire?

Whereas I'd lost the ability to breathe in general.

He was staring down at me. His blue eyes were sparking with intensity and anger. I'd never seen him so angry. I'd never seen _anyone_ so angry. I wondered if he was going to hit me. I stood up taller, reaching onto my tip-toes to show that I would not be intimidated.

As soon as I reached my full height, the least expected happened. CK Wilson was suddenly kissing me. Hard.

I lost my footing, my toes slipping out from under me, and if he hadn't chosen that moment to press me up against the locked door, I probably would have crumbled. I reached my arms around his neck, holding myself up. My toes weren't even touching the floor anymore.

Now before I continue might I just clarify a few issues. There are several reasons why I didn't stop things at that instant:

1) The wine. I know it's a shitty excuse, but my head was in a bit of a tizzy.

2) When trapped between a half-naked man and a wall, it's hard to ask him to stop. If for no other reason than the fear he might drop you and seriously injure you.

3) I hadn't had sex in about six months. That's a loooooong time, my friend.

4) Maybe, on some level, I was... perhaps... just a little bit... or you know... just kind of... lonely.

5) There were so many emotions rushing through me, that I couldn't distinguish between lust and anger. I knew I hated this man. I maintain that those feelings of hatred had hijacked my body into some sort of reckless machine out to destroy the world.

6) I don't know why. I just didn't stop him.

Now that we've cleared that up...

CK's kisses were intense and strong. His arms on either side of my body had me pinned up there, my hands pressed into his naked flesh, my nails digging lightly into his back. My legs, on their own free will, wrapped around his torso knocking against his towel until it was only being held in place by my thighs.

Somehow, I know not how, he managed to maneuver his arms around my body, while keeping us both flesh up against each other. Without even realizing it, I was no longer pressed against the door, but held tightly to him by his arms that were climbing up under my shirt as he staggered towards the bed, leaving the innocent, flowery towel behind.

He fell backwards onto the bed, with me straddling above him. I lifted my arms hastily and he yanked the shirt over my head, catching it on my earring. I yelped in pain as he loosed his grip on the shirt. It fell back onto me, the neck band still caught around my head and tugging at my ear.

"Get it off me," I muttered, still channeling the anger from our fight.

"I'm trying," CK snapped back, as I reached up under my shirt to take off my earring. CK, meanwhile continued to tug at the hem, trying to yank my ear off with it.

"Just take off my pants," I ordered and he obediently switched tasks, now fiddling with the buttons of my jeans instead. I finally got the earring off and soon after the shirt followed suit. CK, on the other hand, was still having problems with the button on my jeans. I pushed his hand out of the way and stood to take my pants off properly with a simple, "You're an idiot."

In a matter of seconds, despite my shaking hands, my pants were laying at my ankles and I was resuming my position on top of him while I kicked off the jeans. My lips were making eager contact with his, biting softly onto his lower lip and tugging gently. His stubbled scraped sensually over my cheeks, grating my nerves.

"Don't call me an idiot," he growled angrily, wrapping his fingers around either side of my stomach, digging them deeper into my soft skin. His hands traveled south once he'd lifted me into his position, feeling the band of my underwear, as his lips grazed angrily across my neck, and I reached behind me to unhook my bra and slip it over my arms before entangling my hands in his messy hair.

Suddenly he pulled away slightly, our bodies still clenched together. "Why are you still wearing underwear," he groaned, every word and movement still blazing with anger. Finally taking action into his own hands, he used his grasp on my torso to roll me over until he was on top, disentangled himself until he was on his feet.

"Get a condom, you moron," I admonished, my hands passionately gripping the quilt my mother had placed on this bed a mere three days ago.

"Shut up," he rumbled, stomping off to find something in his kit bag.

My skin still burned from his every touch, my legs clenched together in anticipation. "You're taking too fucking long," I shouted.

"Just wait," he bellowed, relief evident as he finally located what he needed. "Are you happy now?" he growled rhetorically.

"Just hurry up," I shouted as he grabbed the band of my panties and yanked them over my butt, pulling them over my legs with too much tenacity. The bands of my underwear got caught on my heels and jerked my entire body towards him. "Ugh, you're so stupid."

"Just shut up," he demanded, finally untangling my underwear from off my feet and tossing them to the side before he dove back on top of me. "You're being a pain in the ass."

His entire body lowered onto me and my hands moved angrily over his bare back. His teeth nipped little bites across my skin while his fingers ran along the sensitive sites of my body, taunting me.

I was fed up with his teasing, he would press against me, then pull up and away. He was torturing me. I would try to raise my body with his, heaving my chest up and putting my weight on my shoulders and hips so I wouldn't feel that gap of air between us. "Oh, I hate you," I whispered as I suddenly felt the words die softly on my lips and the feeling of ecstasy grow inside me as he finally made his move.

* * *

_Well... Even I don't know what to say._


	16. When I See an Elephant Fly

_**Love is a Four Letter Word**_

_When I See an Elephant Fly_

Did you know that in 2003 a man stuck in an avalanche cut off his own arm in order to survive. The way things are looking right now, I'd say that guy got off easily. I would gladly part with a few limbs if it meant it was physically possible to get out of this bed alive. My one lucky break so far: after avoiding answering CK's sleepy questions, he seemed to have fallen back to sleep.

You see, the thing about making life's great mistakes is that, although you typically learn a valuable lesson (i.e. don't sleep with your worst enemy... even if it was rather... er... good.), sometimes the wake of such disaster isn't worth the pain. And right now, I'll tell you I'm in a lot of pain.

Tentatively I attempt to pinch myself. Another little tid-bit of information: when wrapped (for lack of a better word) around the bare body of a man that you definitely don't want to wake up, pinching oneself can prove to be rather difficult. I slowly wriggle my hands out from under him. He's still smiling and I notice his lips twitch as if someone was tickling him. Suddenly he makes a weird "hrumph"ing noise and rolls over thus blissfully freeing my hands. I give a quick final check to make sure that I am in fact not dreaming. Like the last fifty tests, this one I fail and open my eyes once again to still see CK Wilson sleeping soundly, and nakedly, beside me.

I wish real life had dream sequences.

Ok. We have another problem: left foot is trapped between the ankles of naked man. He's like clutching it! How the hell to I get it through? I try pointing my toes like a ballerina and slipping it through the caged bars that his bony ankles have created, but my feet are a bit too big and I still can't fit my heel through. As if reading my mind, CK Wilson relinquishes one foot and moves it slightly further away from me. I take this brief second to allow my foot to escape.

Mission accomplished. I now have all four major limbs free from the clutches of The World's Worst Decision. I roll onto my back and take a deep breath. This is the part where I leap from the bed in victory and happy dance my way to the door; and yet it seems oddly painful to get out of this bed. Because it's warm. Nothing else.

I take another deep breath. If I stay... no. Don't even contemplate it. Staying isn't even an option. You have to get out of this bed. You have to do it right this moment or else forever regret having wasted a Christmas morning in the arms of the man you hate.

But.

What am I doing? There are no buts.

I set my jaw in determination and quickly toss the covers off of me and place both feet squarely on the ground. I prefer to do it quickly. Like ripping of a band-aid, let the pain be brief. And yet I can't help but look back... just to check and see if he's awake. I don't know which I'd prefer. Awake or asleep?

What am I talking about? I hate CK when he's awake. In fact, I hate CK all the time. Period. Exclamation point. Question mark? No. No question mark.

Julia Grant, if you do not get out of this bed this instant...

Before I can even threaten to kick my own ass, I'm out of the bed. I suppress the urge to get back in it. I'm not the kind of girl who likes to look back.

First things first: I locate my clothing scattered across the room. My bra's hanging on the doorknob. My t-shirt covers the stack of beautifully wrapped presents. My pants are under the bed. I search frantically for my underwear, but eventually I give up. Underwear be damned. As soon as I have all my objects located, underwear excluded, I head for the door. I tug on the door. I twist on the door. I kick the door in anger because it has yet to open. I grab my toe and hop around in silent pain. I look back at CK. He still hasn't moved a millimeter. He must be a really heavy sleeper.

Think, Julia. _Think!_ There has to be a way out of here. I try to contemplate the situation I've manage to get myself stuck in, but my brain feels heavy from all the wine. Sometimes even I'm surprised by my stupidity.

Just when I was about to give up, I had a sudden stroke of brilliance. The window! Brilliant! Or at least it seemed to be at the moment, but five seconds later when I was peering down at the early-dawn lawn from a second story window that seemed to drop on for a short eternity yet another great plan seemed hoodwinked.

I opened the window and gulped. Somehow this seemed like such an easier feat when shimmying down the drain-pipe in high school. But considering the alternative... a few broken limbs hardly seemed all that scary. I kicked one leg out the window followed closely by the other while simultaneously clutching onto the windowsill with all my upper body strength.

Just as I was lowering myself slowly down from the ledge, CK Wilson rolled over on the double bed that he was still laying flat upon and right before I fell out of a second story window, his eyes opened and locked right onto mine.

* * *

I got up slowly once my body finally hit the ground. Very slowly. In fact I fell back down. My legs and arms and all other appendages were scratched, but I seemed lucky enough to have not sustained any major injuries.

I looked up to the window I'd just fallen out of. It was empty. I could have sworn he saw... but oh well. Obviously not. Stop being silly.

I stand, brush myself off, and can't help but chuckle at my own misfortune. How do I end up in these kind of situations? It's like I have some sort of magnet that attracts catastrophe. That's it. I'm a tragedy magnet.

Well, the most you can do after plunging out of a two story window is to get back up. I plan on doing just that.

I take a tentative step back toward my childhood home. What else would I do? I can't lay here on the crabgrass and pretend that everything has gone according to plan. So instead I quietly sneak through the kitchen door, closing the door carefully so as to not make any noise. With any luck I can make it up to my room quietly enough that no one will know I'm awake and bother me. I just want to get some sleep.

I take the stairs carefully. Not necessarily because they're squeaky, but more because I just fell out of a window, and, let's face it, I'm no Spring Chicken. Spring Chicken? Who says crap like that? Yes, I make fun of myself in my own thoughts.

I finally make it up the stairs and make a quick stop in the bathroom to scrounge the medicine cabinet for a bit of advil. With any luck I'll still be able to move in an hour. I find a bottle of perkiset, some antibiotics from 1996, and some melted throat lozenges. I finally locate the acetaminophen behind a box of old contacts. I take three for good measure.

I creep back out into the hallway. Ironically enough I find myself at a crossroads. To my left is my room, with its soft pillows and childhood comfort. To my right is the guest bedroom...

I can't just leave him...

But I shouldn't go over there. I don't even know why I'm entertaining the thought. Obviously it would be torture for both parties. I don't want to see him. Ever. And I have an inkling suspicion that he might have been _pretending _ to be asleep this morning so that he wouldn't have to talk to me. Although I didn't particularly want to face him either, that's still obnoxiously rude. And arrogant.

Oh I hate him!

And you know what else! He totally saw me fall out of that window and he didn't even peek out the window to make sure I was alright. Bastard!

Or maybe he really was just asleep...

He's locked in there, I suddenly remember. I don't actually have to face him. I could just jiggle the handle loose. So that he can get out and hopefully leave my life for good!

I tip-toe over to his room, proving that I am in fact the bigger person. And I'm also very compassionate to do such a nice thing, even for my loathed enemy.

I get to the door, jiggle the handle. It doesn't work. I scowl at the door. It's not supposed to be broken from the outside. We must have lodged it in there even tighter during last night's... activities. But for some reason I feel this pressing urge to get this door open. If for no other reason than to check and see if CK Wilson was really sleeping when I left.

I yank hard on the handle. It moves ever so slightly proving that it's jammed and not broken. I look at the hinges. They do look a bit stressed and kind of wonky. Well then we'll just have to heave it open! I tug with all my might, making funny noises in my effort.

I hear a noise on the other side of the door. A scuffling and then a light tap against the door. I press my ear against the wooden door, listening. I'm rewarded with CK's voice saying my name softly through the door.

"I'm going to get you out," I mutter back, baffling myself. I don't know why I want to get him out so badly. It's not as though I actually want to have to face him... or anything.

"Ok," he replies. "You pull and I'll push."

I scowl at the door. "No the hinge goes the other way. I'll push and you can pull!" I don't like being ordered about.

I can hear a frustrated groan on the other side of the door. "Please don't start this," he growls. "If the hinge is on your side of the door, that means it opens out."

I squint, testing the practicality of that statement. Yeah, okay. So whatever. He just happened to be right... stupid jerk.

I grunt my assent and begin to pull with all my might. I plant my hells in the carpet and, locking my grip on the knob, allow my entire body weight to hang, with the door as the only thing keeping me from collapsing onto the floor. Between the two of us, we managed to dislodge the door in a matter of seconds. The only flaw in our fabulous plan was that as soon as the door released, there was no longer any force to hold me upright. Once again I found myself laying on the ground, rubbing my bottom in pain.

That's what happens when CK and I team up. Bad things... only bad things.

"Thanks." He held out a hand for me. It took me ages to figure out why. By then I was already standing. He pulled his hand back awkwardly. Was that a blush?

So... have you ever been standing there, after what could only be a grave mistake, with absolutely no words coming to mind. Utter and awkward silence, my friends. Emphasis on the awkward.

"Did you know that the average woman has been divorced by age 29?"

This was one of those things like how he'd held out his hand to help me up. It was just totally unexpected.

"Okay?"

He yanked a hand through his already messy hair. "I just thought it was a weird statistic."

"Well thank you for sharing."

He coughed. "Um. Yeah."

I looked at him as if examining an alien. My head was tilted slightly to the side, biting on my fingernails in concentration. If I didn't know any better I'd say that I make CK Wilson, the Great CK Wilson, uncomfortable.

"Julia," he began, looking at me with some sort of emphasis. If I were a more intelligent woman I might have known what he was saying, but I've never been very perceptive. "Do you think we could--"

"Jules?"

My head whipped around. Oh, what timing! For once I was actually curious about what CK Wilson was going to say next.

I wiped that thought away quickly. CK never had anything useful to add. It would be naive to think... he might actually... Now I really wish I could read expressions. But instead of hearing CK's, most likely, horrific statement, I found myself staring down the hallway at my diffident father.

"Yes?" I asked.

He looked at his watch. "You two are up kind of early."

My cheeks prickled as I thought about CK and I standing alone in the hallway, our appearances still rather ruffled. Oh gosh! Think if my parents had heard us last night! ...Not that anything happened. Is it hot in here or is it just me? At least CK had had the forethought to re-wrap his towel around his waist.

"CK got locked in his room," I muttered quickly, embarrassed and shamed.

"Oh, well you got him out."

Is there something about this hallway that promotes awkward statements?

"Yes. We got him out," I replied.

CK remained mute. Just clutched his towel tightly and looked anywhere but at my father.

"Well," my father drew, evaluating the situation.

"Yes, daddy?" Why now? Why after all this time does he have to choose this moment to venture out of his study?

"Would you like to take a walk with me?"

* * *

There are few things more awkward than walking through your childhood neighborhood with your all but estranged father.

I wonder what CK was going to say earlier. Maybe he was just going to say that he wanted to talk. Talk? About what? I don't think CK and I have ever just talked. Not without arguing. I take comfort in the arguing.

"So, do you like living with Kayce?" my father asked, kicking broken pieces of gravel on the road with his new Nikes.

Do you think CK wanted to talk about what happened last night? I was hoping we'd just forget it ever happened and go back to our shared hatred of the other.

"Julia?"

I looked up from the ground. "Yeah?"

My father cocked a small grin. It was weird. He hardly ever smiled anymore. "You always did live on your own planet, Julia."

I shrugged. "Well at least that solves one great question."

"Oh yeah? What question is that?"

"That there actually is intelligent life on other planets."

Now he was definitely grinning. It made me feel like I was six years old again. Dad used to walk with me down to the beach and tell me stories about his childhood. I would later learn that about 75 percent of those stories were fictional. But how was a six year old supposed to know the difference between her father and episodes of _Cheers_?

I rolled my eyes at his sickening grin. I was tired of thinking about the past. It kind of made me nauseous to think about all the changes that had happened in my life.

I looked over at my father, hoping to slap that awkward grin off his face. He couldn't just switch back into old Dad mode as if that last eight years hadn't happened. But upon studying his expression I realized that he wasn't truly grinning at all. His face had molded into that same sentimental facade that I get every time I'm trying to pretend that everything is okay.

But there was one more thing to his look that I just couldn't understand. We've already established that I'm horrible at reading faces. And you know what I feel? Tired. I'm tired of trying to figure people out. I'm tired of not fully grasping what people are trying to tell me. I just want to know what my father is trying to say. So I'm going to be blatant and obvious. I'm going to ask him.

"Daddy, was there any particular reason you wanted to talk?" I ask, making it quite clear that today was not the day to bullshit me. Today was a day to confess.

"What do you mean?"

Obviously, my father missed my "no-bullshit" tone.

I released an angry puff of breath. "Daddy. I don't think we've talked in almost a decade."

My father took a deep breath. I felt as though some sort of epic confession was on the horizon. "Remember that time you broke your collarbone when you fell off the pier?"

That was it? That was all he could say. Perhaps I should work on my "no-bullshit" tone.

"What's that got to do with anything?" I'd been nine when that happened and rather stupid. Now I'm 26 and still rather stupid. Funny how that works.

My father took yet another deep breath. "When you fell off the pier everyone was trying to get you back up and out of the water. But you refused. You just laid there in the shallows, crying out in pain and saying you wanted your daddy. I was the only person that could make things better."

I shrugged. I hadn't remembered that.

"And on your wedding day, whenever something went wrong, you just kept asking if you could see Nick. He'd taken my spot as your resident savior and I realized that I'd lost my little girl."

I snorted. That was the dumbest thing I'd ever heard. "You're the one that pushed me away," I pointed out, rather snottily, I'm ashamed to admit.

He looked at me for a long time. "It's hard, Julia, to look at your daughter and realize that you're no longer Superman."

I bit my lip. Must I always be such a bitch? "Why are you telling me all this now? Don't you think it's a little too late?"

My father nodded once. When had things gotten so heavy? Was it wrong that I suddenly wished for the _Cheers _stories and the unusual grin.

"That's the point, Jules. I let you slip through my fingers because I was still so stuck on the past. I don't want the same thing to happen to you."

I suddenly understood. This was my father's way of telling me to get over it. To stop thinking about it and to quit running that night with Mandy through my mind. It was time to move on.

"Your life isn't going to wait around for you, Jules."

And I hated that it all made so much sense.

* * *

_I know and I'm super sorry it's been so long. Honestly? I hate this freaking chapter. But I was tried of lingering on it, so I'm going to take Julia's advice and just move on. Either way I'm glad it's over with and you get a long awaited chapter (that I was too lazy to proof-read) so yay. Sorry about the rather abrupt/corny ending. I just wanted to finish it. _

_Haha. I'm lame._


End file.
